TO • HIS HOME 



BY 



EZEKIAH-BUTTERWORTH 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 




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TRUE TO HIS HOME 

A TALE OF THE BOYHOOD OF FRANKLIN 



Books by Hezekiah Butterworth. 

Each, i2mo, cloth, $1.50. 

The Log SchooUHouse on the Columbia. 

With 13 full-page Illustrations by J. Carter Beard, 
E. J. Austen, and Others. 

" This book will charm all who turn its pages. There are few 
books of popular information concerning the pioneers of the t;reat 
Northwest, and this one is worthy of sincere praise." — Seattle Fcst- 
Inteliigencer. 

In the Boyhood of Lincoln. 

A Story of the Black Hawk War and the Tunker 
Schoolmaster. With 12 full-page Illustrations and 
colored Frontispiece. 

"The author presents facts in a most attractive framework of fic- 
tion, and imbues the whole with his peculiar humor. Ihe illustrations 
are numerous and of more than usual excellence." — New Haven 
PaUadiitm. 

The Boys of Greenway Court. 

A Story of the Early J 'ears of Washington. With 10 
full-page Illustrations by H. Winthrop Peirce. 

" Ski'Ifully combining fact and fiction, he has given us a story 
historically instructive and at the same time entertaining." — Boston 
Transcript. 

The Patriot Schoolmaster ; 

Or, The Adventures of the Two Boston Cannon, the 
"Adams " and tlie " Hancock. " A Tale of the Minute 
Men and the Sons of Liberty. With Illustrations by 
H. Winthrop Peirce. 

The true soirit of the lenders in our War for Independence is pic- 
tured in this dramatic story. It includes the Boston Tea Party and 
Bunker Hill; and Adams, Hancock, Revere, and the boys who 
bearded General Gage, are living characters in this romance of 
American patriotism. 

The Knight of Liberty. 

A Tale of the Fortunes of Lafayette. With 6 full-page 
Illustrations. 

" No better reading for the young man can be imagined than this 
fascinating narrative of a noble figure on the canvas of time." — Boston 
Traveller. 

New York: D. Appleton & Co., 72 Fifth Avenue. 




Little Ben's adventure as a poet. 



(See page 113.) 



TRUE TO HIS HOME 



H Xlale ot tbe Bo^booD of jfranl^lin 



BY 



HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH 

It 

AUTHOR OF 
THE WAMPUM BELT, IN THE BOYHOOD OF LINCOLN, ETC. 



The noblest question in the world is, What good may I do in it ? 

Poor Richard 



ILLUSTRATED BY H. WINTHROP PEIRCE 




NEW YORK 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1897 



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^f2)2- 






Copyright, 1897, 
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 



/^-3//3^ 



PEEFACE 



This volume is an historical fiction, but the plan of it was 
suggested by biography, and is made to include the most in- 
teresting and picturesque episodes in the home side of the life 
of Benjamin Franklin, so as to form a connected narrative or 
picture of his public life. 

I have written no book with a deeper sympathy with my 
subject, for, although fiction, the story very truthfully shows 
that the good intentions of a life which has seemed to fail do 
not die, but live in others whom they inspire. Uncle Benja- 
min Franklin, "the poet," who was something .of a philoso- 
pher, and whose visions all seemed to end in disappointment, 
deeply influenced his nephew and godson, Benjamin Frank- 
lin, whom he morally educated to become what he himself had 
failed to be. 

The conduct of Josiah Franklin, the father of Benjamin 
Franklin, in comforting his poor old brother in England by 
naming his fifteenth child for him, and making him his god- 
father, is a touching instance of family affection, to the mem- 
ory of which the statesman was always true. 

Uncle Benjamin Franklin had a library of pamphlets that 
was very dear to him, for in the margins of the leaves he had 
placed the choicest thoughts of his life amid great political 



vi PREFACE. 

events. He was very poor, and he sold his library in his old 
age; we may reasonably suppose that he parted with it among 
other effects to get money to come to America, that he might 
give his influence to " Little Ben," after his brother had re- 
membered him in his desolation by giving his name to the 
boy. The finding of these pamphlets in London fifty years 
after the old man was compelled to sell them was regarded 
by Benjamin Franklin as one of the most singular events of 
his remarkable life. 

Mr. Parton, in his Life of Franklin, thus alludes to the 
circumstance: 

A strange occurrence brought to the mind of Franklin, in 
1771, a vivid recollection of his childhood. A dealer in old 
books, whose shop he sometimes visited, called his attention 
one day to a collection of pamphlets, bound in thirty volumes, 
dating from the Eestoration to 1715. The dealer offered them 
to Franklin, as he said, because many of the subjects of the 
pamphlets were such as usually interested him. Upon ex- 
amining the collection, he found that one of the blank leaves 
of each volume contained a catalogue of its contents, and the 
price each pamphlet had cost; there were notes and comments 
also in the margin of several of the pieces. A closer scrutiny 
revealed that the handwriting was that of his Uncle Benjamin, 
the rhyming friend and counselor of his childhood. Other 
circumstances combined with this surprising fact to prove that 
the collection had been made by his uncle, who had probably 
sold it when he emigrated to America, fifty-six years before. 
Franklin bought the volumes, and gave an account of the cir- 
cumstance to his Uncle Benjamin's son, who still lived and 
flourished in Boston. " The oddity is," he wrote, " that the 
bookseller, who could suspect nothing of any relation between 



PREFACE. vii 

me and the collector, should happen to make me the offer of 
them." 

It may please the reader to know that " Mr. Calamity " 
was suggested by a real character, and that the incidents in 
the life of ''" Jenny," Franklin's favorite sister, are true in 
spirit and largely in detail. It would have been more artistic 
to have had Franklin discover Uncle Benjamin's " pamphlets " 
later in life, but this would have been, while allowable, un- 
historic fiction. 

Says one of the greatest critics ever born in America, in 
speaking of the humble birth of Franklin: 

That little baby, humbly cradled, has turned out to be the 
greatest man that America ever bore in her bosom or set eyes 
upon. Beyond all question, as I think, Benjamin Franklin 
had the largest mind that has shone on this side of the sea, 
widest in its comprehension, most deep-looking, thoughtful, 
far-seeing, the most original and creative child of the New 
World. 

For the last four generations no man has shed such copious 
good influence on America, nor added so much new truth to 
popular knowledge; none has so skillfully organized its ideals 
into institutions; none has so powerfully and wisely directed 
the nation's conduct and advanced its welfare in so many re- 
spects. N"o man has so strong a hold on the habits or the 
manners of the people. 

" The principal question in life is. What good can I do 
in the world?" says Franklin. He learned to ask this ques- 
tion in his home in " beloved Boston." It was his purpose to 
answer this all-important question after the lessons that he 



Y2J2 PREFACE. 

had received in his early home, to which his heart remained 
true through all his marvelous career. 

This is the seventh volume of the Creators of Liberty 
Series of books of historical fiction, based for the most part on 
real events, in the purpose of presenting biography in picture. 

The former volumes of this series of books have been very 
kindly received by the public, and none of them more gen- 
erously than the last volume. The Wampum Belt. For this 
the writer is very grateful, for he is a thorough believer in 
story-telling education, on the Pestalozzi and Froebel principle 
that " life must be taught from life," or from the highest ideals 
of beneficent character. H. B. 

28 Worcester Street, Boston, Mass., June, 1897. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — The first day 1 

II. — Uncle Benjamin, the poet 10 

III. — Benjamin and Benjamin 18 

IV. — Franklin's story of a holiday in childhood . , .24 

V. — The boy Franklin's kite 28 

VI. — Little Ben's guinea pig 34 

VII. — Uncle Tom, who rose in the world 39 

VIII.— Little Ben shows his handwriting to the family . . 46 

IX. — Uncle Benjamin's secret 50 

X. — The stone wharf, and Lady Wiggleworth, who fell 

ASLEEP IN church 56 

XI.— Jenny 70 

XII. — A chime of BELLS IN NOTTINGHAM 74 

XIII. — The ELDER Franklin's stories 78 

XIV. — The treasure-finder 83 

XV.— "Have I a chance?" 92 

XVI. — " A BOOK THAT INFLUENCED THE CHARACTER OP A MAN WHO 

LED HIS AGE " 99 

XVII. — Benjamin looks for a place wherein to start in life . 102 

XVIII. — Little Ben's adventure as a poet Ill 

XIX. — Leaves Boston 132 

XX. — Laughed at again 138 

XXI. — London and a long swim 148 

XXII. — A PENNY roll with HONOR. — JeNNY's, SPINNING-WHEEL . 160 

Ix 



X CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII.— Mr. Calamity 168 

XXIV. — Franklin's struggles with Franklin . . . . 174 

XXV. — The magical bottle 179 

XXVI. — The electrifield vial and the questions it eaised . 186 

XXVII. — The great discovery 193 

XXVIII. — Home-coming in disguise 200 

XXIX.— "Those pamphlets" 209 

XXX. — A strange discovery 213 

XXXI. — Old Humphrey's strange story 220 

XXXII. — The eagle that caught the cat. — Dr. Franklin's 

English fable. — The doctor's squirrels . . 225 

XXXIII.— Old Mr. Calamity again 230 

XXXIV. — Old Mr. Calamity and the tearing down of the 

King's Arms 242 

XXXV.— Jenny again 250 

XXXVI.— The Declaration of Independence.— A mystery . . 257 
XXXVII. — Another signature. — The story of Auvergne sans 

tache 267 

XXXVIII. — Franklin signs the treaty of peace.— How George 

III receives the news 281 

XXXIX.— The tale of an old velvet coat 287 

XL. — In service again 293 

XLI. — Jane's last visit 299 

XLII.— For the last time 307 

« 

XLIII. — A lesson after school 311 

APPENDIX.— Franklin's famous proverb story of the old auc- 
tioneer 314 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



FACING 
PAGE 

'Little Ben's adventure as a poet .... Frontispiece 

I Uncle Benjamin's secret 520 

" Are you going t'o swim back to London ? " 156 

A strange discovery 215 

V The destruction of the royal arms 247 

7 Franklin's last days 295 



•J 



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TRUE TO HIS HOME. 



CHAPTER I. 



THE FIRST DAY. 



It was the Sunday morning of the, 6th of January, 1706 
(January 17th, old style), when a baby first saw the light in 
a poor tallow chandler's house on Milk Street, nearly oppo- 
site the Old South Church, Boston. The little stranger came 
into a large and growing family, of whom at a later period he 
might sometimes have seen thirteen children sit down at the 
table to very hard and simple fare. 

" A baby is nothing new in this family," said Josiah Frank- 
lin, the father. " This is the fifteenth. Let me take it over 
to the church and have it christened this very day. There 
should be no time lost in christening. What say you, friends 
all? It is a likely boy, and it is best to start him right in life 
at once." 

" People do not often have their children christened in 
church on the day of birth," said a lusty neighbor, " though 
if a child seems likely to die it might be christened on the day 
of its birth at home." 

" This child does not seem likely to die," said the happy 
tallow chandler. " I will go and see the parson, and if he does 
not object I will give the child to the Lord on this January 



2 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

day, and if he should come to an3'thing he will have occasion 
to remember that I thought of the highest duty that I owed 
him when he first opened his eyes to the light." 

The smiling and enthusiastic tallow chandler went to see 
the parson, and then returned to his home. 

" Abiah," he said to his wife, " I am going to have the 
child christened. What shall his name be?" 

Josiah Franklin, the chandler, who had emigrated to Bos- 
ton town that he might enjoy religious freedom, had left a 
brother in England, who was an honest, kindly, large-hearted 
man, and " a poet." 

"How would Benjamin do?" he continued; "brother's 
name. Benjamin is a family name, and a good one. Benja- 
min of old, into whose sack Joseph put the silver cup, was a 
right kind of a man. What do you say, Abiah Folger? " 

" Benjamin is a good name, and a name lasts for life. But 
your brother Benjamin has not succeeded very well in his many 
undertakings." 

" No, but in all his losses he has never lost his good name. 
His honor has shown over all. ' A good name is rather to be 
chosen than great riches, and loving favor rather than silver 
or gold.' A man may get riches and yet be poor. It is he 
that seeks the welfare of others more than wealth for him- 
self that lives for the things that are best." 

" Josiah, this is no common boy — look at his head. We 
can not do for him as our neighbors do for their children. 
But we can give him a name to honor, and that will be an 
example to him. How would Folger do — Folger Franklin? 
Father Folger was a poet like your brother Benjamin, and he 



THE FIRST DAY. 3 

did well in life. That would unite the names of the two 
families." 

John Folger, of Norwich, England, with his son Peter, 
came to this country in the year 1635 on the same shi]) 
that bore the family of Eev. Hugh Peters. This clergyman, 
who is known as a " regicide," or king murderer, and who 
suffered a most terrible death in London on the accession of 
Charles II, succeeded Eoger Williams in the church at Salem. 
He flourished during the times of Cromwell, but was sen- 
tenced to be hanged, cut down alive, and tortured, his body 
to be quartered, and his head exposed among the male- 
factors, on account of having consented to the execution of 
Charles I. 

Among Hugh Peters's household was one Mary Morrell, 
a white slave, or purchased serving maid. She was a very 
bright and beautiful girl. 

The passengers had small comforts on board the ship. The 
passage was a long one, and the time passed heavily. 

Now the passengers who were most interesting to each 
other became intimate, and young Peter Folger and beautiful 
Mary Morrell of the Peterses became very interesting to each 
other and very social. Peter Folger began to ask himself the 
question, " If the fair maid would marry me, could I not 
purchase her freedom ? " He seems somehow to have found 
out that the latter could be done, and so Peter ofi'ered him- 
self to the attractive servant of the Peterses. The two were be- 
trothed amid the Atlantic winds and the rolling seas, and the 
roaring ocean could have little troubled them then, so happy 
were their anticipations of their life in the New World. 



4, TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

Peter purchased Marj^'s freedom of the Peterses, and so he 
bought the grandmother of that Benjamin Franklin who was to 
" snatch the thunderbolts from heaven and the scepter from 
tjTants," to sign the Declaration of Independence which 
brought forth a new order of government for mankind, and 
to form a treaty of peace with England which was to make 
America free. 

Peter Folger and his bride first settled in Watertown, 
Mass., where the young immigrant became a very useful citi- 
zen. He studied the Indian tongue. 

About 1660 the familv removed to Martha's Vineyard with 
Thomas Mayhew, of colonial fame, where Peter was employed 
as a school teacher and a land surveyor, and he assisted Mr. May- 
hew in his work among the Indians. He went to Nantucket 
as a surveyor about 1662, and was induced to remove there 
as an interpreter and as land surveyor. He was assigned by 
the proprietors a place known as Roger's Field, and later 
as Jethro Folger's Lane, now a portion of the ]\Iaddequet 
Road. Their tenth child was Abiah, born August 15, 1667. 
She was the second wife of Josiah Franklin, tallow chand- 
ler, of the sign of the Blue Ball, Boston, and the mother of 
the boy whom she would like to have inherit so inspiring a 
name. 

Peter Folger, the Quaker poet of the island of Nantucket, 
was a most worthy man. He lived at the beginning of the dark 
times of persecution, when Baptists and Quakers were in dan- 
ger of being publicly whipped, branded, and deported or ban- 
ished into the wilderness. Stories of the cruelty that followed 
these people filled the colonies, and caused the Quaker's heart 



THE FIRST DAY. 5 

to bleed and burn. He wrote a poem entitled A Looking- 
glass for the Times, in which he called upon New England to 
pause in her sins of intoleration and persecution, and threat- 
ened the judgments foretold in the Bible upon those who do 
injustice to God's children. 

" Abiah," said the proud father, " I admire the charac- 
ter of your father. It stood for justice and human rights. 
But, wife, listen: 

" Brother Benjamin has lost all of his ten children but 
one. I pity him. Wife, listen: Brother Benjamin is poor 
through no fault of his, but because he gave himself and all 
that he was to his family. 

"Listen: It would touch his heart to learn that I had 
named this boy for him. It would show the old man that I 
had not forgotten him, but still thought of him. 

" I can not do much for the boy, but I can give Brother 
Benjamin a home with me, and, as he is a great reader, he 
can instruct the boy by wise precept and a good example. If 
the boy will only follow brother's principles, he may make 
the name of Benjamin live. 

"And once more: if we name the boy Benjamin, it will 
make Brother Benjamin feel that he has not lost all, but that 
he will have another chance in the world. How glad that 
would make the poor old man! I would like to name him as 
the boy's godfather. I do pity him, don't you? You have 
the heart of Peter Folger." 

There was a silence. 

"Abiah, what now shall the boy's name be?" 

" Benjamin." 



6 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" You have chosjen that name out of your heart. May that 
name bring you joy! It ought to do so, since you have given 
up your own wish and breathed it out of your heart and con- 
science. To give up is to gain." 

He took up the child. 

" Then we will give that name to him now, and I will take 
the child and go to the church, and I will name Brother Ben- 
jamin as his godfather." 

" It is a very cold day for the little one." 

" And a healthy one on which to start out in the world. 
There is nothing like starting right and with a good name, 
which may the Lord help this cliild to honor! And, Abiah, 
that He will." 

He wrapped the babe up warmly, and looked him full in 
the face. 

Josiah Franklin was a genial, provident, hard-sensed man. 
He probably had no prophetic visions; no thought that the 
little one given him on this frosty January morning in the 
breezy town of Boston by the sea would command senates, 
lead courts, and sign a declaration of peace that would make 
possible a new order of government in the world, could have 
entered his mind. If the boy should become a good man, with 
a little poetic imagination like his Uncle Benjamin, the home 
poet, he would be content. 

He opened the door of his one room on the lower floor 
of his house and went out into the cold with the child in his 
arms. In a short time he returned and laid little Benjamin in 
the arms of his mother. 

" I hope the child's life will hold out as it has begun," 



THE FIRST DAY. Y 

he added. "Benjamin FranJcUn, day one; started right. May 
Heaven help him to get used to the world!'' 

As poor as the tallow chandler was, he was hospitable on 
that day. He did not hold the birth of the little one — which 
really was an event of greater importance to the world than 
the birth of a king — as anything more than the simple growth 
of an honest family, who had left the crowded towns and a 
smithy in old England to enjoy freedom of faith and con- 
science and the opportunities of the Xew World. He wished 
to live where he might be free to enjoy his own opinions and 
to promote a colony where all men should have these privi- 
leges. 

The honse in which Franklin was born is described as 
follows : 

Its front npon the street was rudely clapboarded, and the 
sides and rear were protected from the inclemencies of a New 
England climate by large, rough shingles. In height the house 
was about three stories; in front, the second story and attic 
projected somewhat into the street, over the princiiDal story 
on the ground floor. On the lower floor of the main house 
there was one room only. This, which probably served the 
Franklins as a parlor and sitting-room, and also for the family 
eating-room, was about twenty feet square, and had two win- 
dows on the street; and it had also one on the passageway, so 
as to give the inmates a good view of Washington Street. In 
the center of the southerly side of the room was one of those 
noted large fireplaces, situated in a most capacious chimney; 
on the left of this was a spacious closet. On the ground floor, 
connected with the sitting-room through the entry, was the 
kitchen. The second story originally contained but one cham- 
ber, and in this the windows, door, fireplace, and closet were 



8 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

similar in number and position to those in the parlor beneath 
it. The attic was also originally one unplastered room, and 
had a window in front on the street, and two common attic 
windows, one on each side of the roof, near the back part 
of it. 

Soon after this unprophetic event Josiah Franklin and 
Abiah his wife went to live at the sign of the Blue Ball, on 
what was then the southeast corner of Hanover and Union 
Streets. The site of the birth of Franklin was long made 
notable as the office of the Boston Post, a political paper whose 
humor was once proverbial. The site is still visited by 
strangers, and bears the record of the event which was to con- 
tribute so powerful an influence to the scientific and political 
history of the world. 

Wendell Phillips used to say that there were two kinds 
of people in the world — one wh© went ahead and did some- 
thing, and another, who showed how that thing ought to have 
been done in some other way. The boy belonged to the former 
class. 

But I doubt if any reader of this volume was ever born to 
so hard an estate as this boy. Let us follow him into the story 
land of childhood. In Germany every child passes through 
fairyland, but there was no such land in Josiah Franklin's 
tallow shop, except when the busy man sometimes played the 
violin in the inner room and sang psalms to the music, usually 
in a very solemn tone. 

There were not many homes in Boston at this period that 
had even so near an approach to fairyland as a violin. Those 
were hard times for children, and especially for those with lively 



THE FIRST DAY. 9 

imaginations, which gift little Benjamin had in no common 
degree. There were Indians in those times, and supposed 
ghosts and witches, but no passing clouds bore angels' chariots; 
there were no brownies among the wild rose bushes and the 
ferns. There was one good children's story in every home — 
that of " Joseph " in the Bible, still, as always, the best family 
story in all the world. 



CHAPTER II. 

UNCLE BENJAMIN, THE POET. 

Mrs. Franklin has said that she coukl hardly remember 
the time in her son's childhood when he could not read. He 
emerged almost from babyhood a reader, and soon began to 
" devour " — to use the word then applied to his habit — all the 
books that fell within his reach. 

When about four years old he became much interested 
in stories told him by his father of his Uncle Benjamin, the 
poet, who lived in England, and for whom he had been named, 
and who, it was hoped, would come to the new country and 
be his godfather. 

The family at the Blue Ball was quick to notice the tend- 
encies of their children in early life. Little Benjamin Frank- 
lin developed a curious liking for a trumpet and a gun. He 
liked to march about to noise, and this noise he was pleased 
to make himself — to blow his own trumpet. The family wrote 
to Uncle Benjamin, the poet, then in England, in regard to 
this unpromising trait, and the good man returned the follow- 
ing letter in reply: 

10 



UNCLE BENJAMIN, THE POET. H 

To my Namesal'e, on hearing of his Inclination to Martial 

Affairs. July 7, 1710. 

" Believe me, Ben, it is a dangerous trade; 
The sword has many marred as well as made; 
By it do many fall, not many rise — 
Makes many poor, few rich, not many wise; 
Fills towns with ruin, fields with blood beside; 
'Tis sloth's maintainer, and the shield of pride; 
Fair cities, rich to-day in plenty flow. 
War fills with want to-morrow, and with woe; 
Euined estates, victims of vice, broken limbs, and scars 
Are the effects of desolatina; wars." 



^to 



One evening, as the tallow chandler was hurrying hither 
and thither in his apron and paper cap, the door opened with 
a sharp ring of the bell fastened by a string upon it. The paper 
cap bobbed up. 

"Hoi, what now?" said the tallow chandler. 

" A letter from England, sirrah. The Lively Nancy has 
come in. There it is." 

The tallow chandler held the letter up to the fire, for it 
had been a melting day, as certain days on which the melting 
of tallow for the molds were called. He read " Benjamin 
Franklin," and said: " That's curious — that's Brother Ben's 
writing. I would know that the world over." He put the 
letter in his pocket. He saw Dame Franklin looking through 
the transom over the door, and shook his head. 

He sat down with his large family to a meal of bread and 



12 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

milk, and then took the letter from his pocket and read it 
over to himself. 

" Ben/' said he, " this is for you. I am going to read it. 
As I do so, you repeat after me the first letter of the first and 
of every line. Are you ready? Now. 

" ' Be to thy parents an obedient son.' " 

" B," said little Ben. 

" ' Each day let duty constantly he done.' " 

" E," the boy continued. 

" ' Never give way to sloth, or lust, or pride.' " 

" N, father." 

" ' Just free to he from thousand ills beside.' " 

" J, father." 

" ' Above all ills be sure avoid the shelf.' " 

" A, father." 

"'Man's danger lies in Satan, sin, and self."' 

" M, father." 

" ' In virtue, learning, wisdom, progress mal:e.' " 

"I, father." 

" ' Ne'er shrink at suffering for thy Saviour's sahe.' " 

" N, father. I know what that spells." 

"What?" 

" Benjamin." 

" ' Fraud and all falsehood in thy dealings flee.' " 

" F," said the boy. 

" ' Beligious always in thy station be.' " 

" E, father." 

"'Adore the Malcer of thy inward heart.'" 

" A, father." 



UNCLE BENJAMIN, THE POET. . 13 



<C i 



Now's the accepted time, give Jiim thy heart.' " 
" N, father; and now I can guess the rest." 
" ' Keep a good conscience, 'tis a constant friend.' " 
" K, father." 

" ' Like judge and witness this thy acts attend.' " 
«-L." 
" ' In heart with decided hiee alone adore.' " 

" ' None hut the Three in One forever more.' " 

" N"." , 

"And to whom are all these things written?" 

" ' To Benjamin Franklin/ sir." 

" Well, my boy, if you will only follow the advice of your 
Uncle Benjamin, the poet, you never will need any more in- 
struction. — Wife, hear this: Brother Ben writes that he is 
coming to America as soon as he can settle his affairs, and 
when he arrives I will give over the training of little Ben to 
him. He is his godfather, and he takes a great interest in a 
boy that he has never seen. Sometimes people are drawn 
toward each other before they meet — there's a kind of sympa- 
thy in this world that is felt in ways unseen and that is pro- 
phetic. Your father was a poet, and Uncle Ben, he is one, 
after a fashion. I wonder what little Ben will be! " 

He put on his paper cap and opened the door into the 
molding-room. The fire was dying out on the hearth, and 
the candles in the molds were cooling and hardening. He 
opened the weather door, causing the bell attached to it to 
ring. He stood looking out on the bowery street of Boston 
town. 



14 ■ TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

On the hill rose the Xorth Church in the shadows near 
the sea. A horn rent the still air. A stage coach from 
Salem came rolling in and stopjjed at the Boston Stone, not 
far away. A little girl tripped down the street. 

" A pound of candles, sir." 

" Hoi, yes, yes," and he took some candles out of a mold 
and laid them in the scales. The girl courtesied, and the tallow 
chandler closed the door with a ting-a-ling. 

Then Josiah sat down with his family and played the vio- 
lin. He loved his brother Benjamin, and the thought of his 
coming made him a happy man. 

One day the old man came. Soon after there happened a 
great event in the family. 

It was a windy night. The ocean was dashing and foam- 
ing along the sea wall on the beach where Long Wharf, Lewis 
Wharf, and Eowe's Wharf now are. The stars shone brightly, 
and clouds flew scudding over the moon. 

Abiah Franklin opened the weather door and looked out. 
She returned to her great chair slowly with a cloud in her 
face. 

" It is a bad night for those on the sea," she said. " It is 
now nine years since Josiah went away. Where he found an 
ocean grave we shall never know. It is hard," she added, " to 
have hope leave you in this way. It is one long torture to live 
in suspense. There hasn't been a day since the first year after 
Josiah left us that my ear has not waited to hear a knock on 
the door on a night like this. 

" Josiah, you may say that I have faith in the impossible, 
but I sometimes believe that I shall hear that knock yet. 



UNCLE BENJAMIN, THE POET. 15 

There is one Scripture that comforts me when I think that; 
it is, ' Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and 
he shall bring it to pass.' " 

Josiah Franklin sat silent. It was now indeed nine years 
since his son Josiah had left home against his will and gone 
to sea — " run away to sea/' as his departure was called. It 
was a kind of mental distemper in old New England times 
for a boy " to run away and go to sea." 

There had been fearful storms on the coast. Abiah Frank- 
lin was a silent woman when the winds bended the trees and 
the waves broke loudly on the shore. She thought then; 
she inwardly prayed, but she said little of the storm that was 
in her heart. 

" I shall never see Josiah again," at last said Josiah Frank- 
lin. " It is a pity; it is hard on me that the son who bears 
my name should leave me, to become a wanderer. Boys will 
do such things. I may have made his home too strict for him; 
if so, may the Lord forgive me. I have meant to do my best 
for all my children. — Ben, let Josiah be a warning to you; 
you have been having the boy fever to go to sea. Hear the 
winds blow and the sea dash! Josiah must have longed to be 
back by the fire on nights like these." 

Josiah went to the window and tapped upon the pane. He 
did that often when his mind was troubled. To tap upon the 
pane eased his heartache. It was an old New England way. 

Josiah took his violin, tuned it, and began to play while 
the family listened by the fading coals. 

" I thought I heard something," said Abiah between one 
of the tunes. 



16 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

"What was it, Abiali?" asked her husband. 

" It sounded like a step." 

" That's nothing strange." 

" It sounded familiar," she said. " Steps are peculiar." 

" Oh, I know of whom you are thinking," said Josiah. 
" May the Lord comfort you, for the winds and waves do not 
to-night." 

He played again. His wife grew restless. 

" Josiah," said she when he ceased playing, " you may 
say that I have fancies, but I thought I saw a face pass the 
window." 

" That is likely, Abiah." 

" But this one had a short chin and a long nose." 

She choked, and her eyes were wet. 

There came a rap upon the door. It was a strong hand 
that made it; there was a heart in the sound. 

" I'll open the door, Josiah," said Abiah. 

She removed the wooden bar with a trembling hand, and 
lifted the latch. 

A tall, rugged form stood before her. She started back. 

" Mother, don't you know me ? " 

" Yes, Josiah, I knew that you were coming to-night." 

She gazed into his eyes silently. 

"Who told you, mother?" 

"My soul." 

" Well, I've come back like the prodigal son. Let me give 
you a smack. You'll take me in — but how about father? I 
thought I heard him playing the violin." 

"Josiah, that is your voice!" exclaimed Josiah the elder. 



UNCLE BENJAMIN, THE POET. 17 

" Now my cup of joy is full and running over. Josiali, come 
in out of the storm." 

Josiah Franklin rushed to the door and locked his son in 
his arms, but there was probably but little sentiment in the 
response. 

" Now I hrww the parable of the prodigal son," said he. 
"^ I had only read it before. Come in! come in! There are 
brothers and sisters here whom you have never seen. Now 
we are all here." 

Uncle Benjamin wrote a poem to celebrate young Josiah's 
return. It was read in the family, with disheartening results. 
Sailor Josiah said that he " never cared much for poetry." 
The poem may be found in the large biographies of Franklin. 



CHAPTER III. 



BENJAMIN AND BENJAMIN. 



An old man sat by an open fire in a strange-looking room 
with a little boy on his knee. Beside him was a middle-aged 
man, the father of the boy. 

" Brother Josiah," said the old man, " I have had a hard, 
disappointed life, but I have done the best that I could, and 
there has nothing happened since my own children died and 
my hair turned gray that has made me so happy as that letter 
that you sent to me in England in which you told me that 
you had named this boy for me." 

" It makes me happy to see you here by my fire to-night, 
with the boy in your lap," said the father. " Benjamin and 
Benjamin! My heart has been true to you in all your troubles 
and losses, and I would have helped you had I been able. 
How did you get up the resolution to cross the sea in your old 
age?" 

" Brother Josiah, it was because my own son is here, 
and he was all that I had left of my own family. But that 
was not all. In one sense my own life has failed; I have come 
down to old age with empty hands. When your letter came 
saying that you had named this boy for me, and had made 
me his godfather, I saw that you pitied me, and that you had 

18 



BENJAMIN AND BENJAMIN. 19 

a place for me in your heart. I thought of all the years that 
we had passed together when we were young; of the farm and 
forge in Ecton; of Banbury; of the chimes of Nottingham; 
of all that we were to each other then. 

" I was all alone in London, and there my heart turned to 
you as it did when we were hoys. That gave me resolution to 
cross the sea, Brother Josiah, although my hair is white and 
my veins are thin. 

" But that was not all, brother; he is a poor man indeed 
who gives up hope. When a man loses hope for himself, he 
wishes to live in another. The ancients used to pray that 
their sons might be nobler than themselves. When I read 
your letter that said that you had named this boy for me and 
had made me his godfather, you can not tell how life revived 
in me — it was like seeing a rainbow after a storm. I said to 
myself that I had another hope in this world; that I would 
live in the boy. I have come over to America to live in this 
boy. 

"0 brother, I •never thought that I would see an hour 
hke this! I am poor, but I am happy. I am happy because 
you loved me after I became poor and friendless. That was 
your opportunity to show what your heart was. I am happy 
because you trusted me and gave my name to this boy. 

" Brother Josiah, I have come over to America to return 
your love, in teaching this boy how to live and how to fulfill the 
best that is in him. A boy with your heart can succeed in 
life, even if he have but common gifts. The best thing that 
can be said of any man is that he is true-hearted. Brother, 
you have been true-hearted to me, and the boy inherits your 



20 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

nature, and I am going to be true-hearted to liim and to do 
all I can to make his life a blessing to you and the world. We 
do no self-sacrificing thing without fruit." 

The old man put his arm about the boy, and said: 

" Ben, little Ben, I loved you before I saw you, and I love 
you more than ever now. I have come across the ocean in 
my old age to be with you. I want you to like me, Ben." 

" I do, uncle," said little Ben. " I would rather be with 
you than with any one. I am glad that you have come." 

" That makes me happy, that makes my old heart happy. 
I did everything a man could do for his wife and children and 
fgr everybody. I was left alone in London, poor; I seemed to 
be a forsaken man, but this makes up for all." 

" Benjamin and Benjamin! " said the younger brother, 
touching the strings of the violin that he held on his lap — 
" Benjamin and Benjamin! Brother Benjamin, how did you 
get the money to cross the ocean ? " 

" I sold my goods and my pamphlets. Tliey were my life; 
I had put my life into them. But I sold them, for what were 
they if I could have the chance to live another life in little 
Ben?" 

" What were your pamphlets? " asked little Ben, 

" They were my life, and I sold them for you, that I might 
make your life a blessing to your father, who has been a true 
brother to me. I will tell you the whole story of the pam- 
phlets some day." 

" Uncle, I love you more than ever before, because you 
sold the treasures for me. I wish that I might grow up and 
help folks, so that my name might honor yours. 



BENJAMIN AND BENJAMIN. 21 

" You can make it that, my boy. If you will let me teach 
you, you may make it that. There can nothing stand before 
a will that wills to do good. It is the heart that has power, 
my boy. My life will not have been lost if I can live in 
you." 

" I have not much time for educating my children," said 
the younger brother. " I am going to give over the training 
of the boy to you. True education begins with the heart first, 
so as to make right ideas fixed in the mind and right habits 
in the conduct. It may be little that I can send him to school, 
but it is what you can do for him that will give him a start 
in life. I want you to see that he starts right in life. I leave 
his training to you. I have a dozen mouths to feed, and small 
time for anything but toil." 

He tuned his violin and played an old English air. There 
were candle molds in the room, long rows of candle wicks, 
great kettles, a gun, a Bible, some old books, and a fireplace 
with a great crane, hooks, and andirons. 

Little Benjamin looked up into the old man's face- and 
laid his hand on his shoulder. 

" I am glad father did not forget you," said he. 

The old man's lip quivered. 

" He has been a true brother to me. Always remember 

that, boy, as long as you live. It is such memories as that 

that teach. His heart is true to me now as when we used 

to leave the forge and roam the woods of Banbury together 

in springtime, when the skylark -rose out of the meadows and 

the hedgerows bloomed. It is good for families to be so 

true to each other. If one member of a family lacks any- 
3 



22 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

thing, it is good for another to make np for it. Yes, boy, 
your father has a good heart, else you would not now be in 
my arms." 

"Why do you cry, papa?" said the boy, for his father's 
eyes were filled with tears which coursed down his cheeks. 
Something that aged Benjamin had said about the forge, 
the nightingale, or the thorn had touched his heart. 

" We can never be young again, brother," said Josiah 
Franklin. " I shall never see the thorn bloom or hear the 
nightingale sing as I once did. No, no, no; but I am glad 
that I have brought you and Ben together. That would have 
pleased our old mother's heart, long dead and gone to the 
violets and primroses. Do you suppose the dead know? I 
sometimes think they do, and that it makes them happy to see 
things like these, I will talk with the parson about these 
things some day." 

The younger brother smiled through his tears and straight- 
ened himself up, as though he felt that he had yielded to weak- 
ness, for he was a plain, hard-working man. Suddenly he 
said: 

" Brother, you remember Uncle Tom ? " 

" Yes, yes; he set the chimes of Nottingham ringing in 
the air. I can hear them ringing now in my memory. Brother, 
I think little Ben favors Uncle Tom." 

"Who was Uncle Tom?" asked the boy. 

" They used to say that he was a wizard. I will tell you 
all about him some day. Let us listen now to your father's 
violin." 

The house was still, save that the sea winds stirred the crisp 



BENJAMIN AND BENJAMIN. 23 

autumn leaves in the great trees near and the nine o'clock bell 
fell solemnly on the air. A watchman went by, saying, " All 
is well! " 

Yes, all is well in hearts like these — hearts that can pity, 
love, forbear, and feel. 



CHAPTER IV. 



FRAXKLIX'S STORY OF A HOLIDAY IX CHILDHOOD. 



As barren as was the early Puritan town in things that 
please the fancy of the child, Josiah Franklin's home was a 
cheerful one. It kept holidays, when the violin was played, 
and some pennies were bestowed upon the many children. 

Let us enter the house by the candle-room door. The 
opening of the door rings a bell. There is an odor of tallow 
everywhere. One side is hung with wickings, to be cut and 
trimmed. 

When the tallow is boiling the room is very hot, close, and 
tbe atmosphere oily. 

There is a soap kettle in the room. The odor of the lye 
is more agreeable than that of the melted tallow. 

Little Ben is here, short, stout, rosy-faced, with a great 
head. Where he goes the other children go; what he 
does, they do. Already a little world has begun to follow 
him. 

Look at him as he runs around among the candle molds, 
talking like a philosopher. Does he seem likely to stand in 
the French court amid the splendors of the palace of Ver- 
sailles, the most popular and conspicuous person among all 
the jeweled multitude who fill the mirrored, the golden, the 

24 



FEANKLIN'S STORY OF A HOLIDAY. 25 

blazing halls except the king himself? Does he look as though 
he would one day ask the French king for an army to help 
establish the independence of his country, and that the throne 
would bow to him? 

Homely as was that home, the fancy of Franklin after he 
became great always loved to return to it. 

In his advanced years he wished to prepare a little story 
or parable that would show that people spend too much time 
and money on things that could be more cheaply purchased 
or that they could well do without. He wrote out an anec- 
dote of his childhood that illustrated in a clear way, like so 
many flashes, how the resources of life may be wasted. The 
story has been printed, we may safely say, a thousand times. 
Few stories have ever had a wider circulation or been more 
often quoted. It has in it a picture of his old home, and as 
such we must give it here. Here is the parable again, as in the 
original : 

" When I was a child, at seven years old, my friends, on a 
holiday, filled my pockets with coppers. I went directly to a 
shop where they sold toys for children, and, being charmed 
with the sound of a whistle that I met by the way in the hands 
of another boy, I voluntarily offered him all my money for 
one. I then came home, and went whistling all over the house, 
much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. 
My brothers and sisters and cousins, understanding the bar- 
gain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for 
it as it was worth. This put me in mind what good things 
I might have bought witli the rest of the money; and they 
laughed at me so much for my folly that I cried with vexa- 



26 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

tion, and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle 
gave me pleasure. 

" This, however, was afterward of use to me, the impres- 
sion continuing on my mind; so that often, when I was tempted 
to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself. Don't give 
too much for the whistle, and so I saved my money. 

" As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the 
actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who 
gave too mtich for the whistle. 

" When 1 saw any one too ambitious of court favor, sacri- 
ficing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, 
his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I have said to 
myself, This man gave too much for his whistle. 

" When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly em- 
ploying himself in political bustles, neglecting his own affairs, 
and ruining them by neglect. He pays, indeed, says I, too much 
for this ivhistle. 

" If I knew a miser who gave up every kind of comfortable 
living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the esteem 
of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship 
for the sake of accumulating wealth. Poor man, says I, you 
do, indeed, pay too much for your whistle. 

" When I meet a man of pleasure, sacrificing every lauda- 
ble improvement of mind, or of his fortune, to mere corporeal 
sensations, Mistal-en man, says I, you are providing pain 
for yourself instead of pleasure; you give too much for your 
whistle. 

" If I see one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine equi- 
pages, all above his fortune, for which he contracts debts, and 



FRANKLIN'S STORY OF A HOLIDAY. 27 

ends his career in prison, Alas! says I, he has paid dear, very 
dear, for his whistle. 

" When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married to 
an ill-natured brute of a husband. What a pity it is, says I, that 
she had paid so much for a ivhistle ! 

" In short, I conceived that great part of the miseries of 
mankind were brought upon them by the false estimates they 
had made of the value of things, and by their giving too much 
for their whistle." 



CHxVPTER V. 



THE BOY FEAXKLIX'S KITE. 



Little Ben now began to lead the sports of the boj's. As 
there came to Froebel an inspiration to found a system of 
education in which the playground should be made a means 
of forming character when life was in the clay, so to young 
Franklin came a desire to make sports and pastimes useful. 
This caused him to build the little wharf in the soft marsh 
whence the boys might catch minnows and sail their boats. 

Boys of nearly all countries and ages have found delight 
in flying kites. A light frame of wood, covered with paper, 
held by a long string, and raised by propelling it against the 
air, has always peculiar attractions for the young. To see 
an object rise from the earth by a law of Nature which seems 
to overcome gravitation to the sky while the string is yet in 
the hand, gives a boy a sense of power which excites his im- 
agination and thrills his blood. 

In Franklin's time the boy who could fly his kite the high- 
est, or who could make his kite appear to be the most pic- 
turesque in the far-away blue sky, was regarded as a leader 
among his fellows, and young Franklin, as we may infer, made 
his kite fly very high. 

But he was not content with the altitude to which he 

28 



THE BOY FRANKLIN'S KITE. 29 

could raise his kite or its beauty in the sky. His inquiry was, 
Wliat can the kite be made to teach that is useful? What 
can it be made to dof What good can it accomplish? 

Ben was an expert swimmer. After he had mastered the 
art of overcoming the water, he sought how to make swim- 
ming safe and easy; and when he had learned this himself, 
he taught other boys how to swim safely and easily. 

One day he was flying his kite on the shore. His imagina- 
tion had wings as well as the kite, and he followed it with the 
eye of fancy as it drifted along the sky pulling at his fingers. 

It was a warm day, and the cool harbor rippled near, and 
he began to feel a desire to plunge into the water, but he did 
not like to pull down his kite. 

He threw off his clothes and dropped into the cool water, 
still holding his kite string, which was probably fastened to 
a short stick in his hand. 

He turned on his back in the water and floated, looking 
up to the kite in the blue, sunny sky. 

But something was happening. The kite, like a sail in a 
boat, was bearing him along. He was the boat, the kite high 
in the sky was the sail, between the two was a single string. 
He could sail himself on the water by a kite in the sky! 

So he drifted along, near the Mystic Eiver probably, on 
that warm pleasant day. The sense of the power that he 
gained by thus obeying a law of Nature filled him with delight. 
He could not have then dreamed that the simple discovery 
would lead up to another which would enable man to see how 
to control one of the greatest forces in the universe. He saw 
simply that he could make the air worh for him, and he prob- 



30 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

ably dreamed that sometime and somewhere the same prin- 
ciple would enable an inventor to show the world how to 
navigate the air. 

The kite now became to him something more than a play- 
thing — a wonder. It caused his fancy to soar, and little Ben 
was always happy when his fancy was on the wing. 

There was a man named Jamie who liked to loiter around 
the Blue Ball. He was a Scotchman, and full of humor. 

"An' wot you been doin' now?" said Jamie the Scotch- 
man, as the boy returned to the Blue Ball with his big kite 
and wet hair. " Kite-flying and swimming don't go together." 

"Ah, sirrah, don't you think that any more! Kite-flying 
and floating on one's back in the water do go together. I've 
been making a boat of myself, and the sail was in the sky." 

" Sho! How did that come about?" 

" I floated on my back and held the kite string in my hand, 
and the kite drew me along." 

"It did, hey? Well, it might do that with a little shaver 
like you. What made you think of that, I would like to know? 
You're always thinkin' out somethin' new. You'll get into 
difficulties some day, like the dog that saw the moon in the 
well and leaped down to fetch it up; he gave one howl, only 
one, once for all, and then they fetched him up; he had noth- 
ing more to say. So it will be with you if you go kiting about 
after such things, flyin' kites for boat sails." 

" But, Jamie, I think that I am the first boy that ever 
sailed on the water without a boat — now don't you?" 

" Well, I don't know. There's nothin' new under the sun. 
People like you that are always inquirin' out the whys and 



THE BOY FRANKLIN'S KITE. 31 

wherefores of things commonly get into trouble. Ben, wot 
will ever become of you, I wonder ? " 

" Archimedes made water run uphill." 

"He did, hey? So he did, as I remember to have read. 
But he lost his life broodin' over a lot of tigers that he was 
drawin' on the sand — angles and triangles an' things. The 
Eoman soldier cut him down when he was dreamin', and they 
let his tomb all grow up to briers. Do you think, Ben, that 
you will ever make the river run uphill? Perhaps you'll turn 
the water up to the sky on a kite string, and then we can have 
rain in plantin' time. Who knows? " 

He added thoughtfully: 

" I wouldn't wonder, Ben, if you invented somethin' if 
you live. But the prospect isn't very encouragin' of your ever 
doin' anything alarmin'." 

" Did you ever hear what Archimedes exclaimed when he 
discovered the law that a body plunged in water loses as much 
of its weight as is equal to the weight of an equal volume of 
the fluid, and applied it to the alloy in the king's crown?" 

"No. Wot did he exclaim?" 

"Eureha! Eureka!" 

"Wot did he do that for?" 

" It means, ' I have found it.' " 

" Maybe you'll find out something sometime, Ben. You all 
run to dreams about such things, and some boys turn their 
dreams into facts, as architects build their imaginations and 
make money. But the fifteenth child of a tallow chandler, 
who was the son of a blacksmith and of a woman whose mother 
was bought and sold, a boy whose wits are off kite-flyin' in- 



32 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

stead of wick-cuttin' and tallow-moldin', has no great chance 
in the future, so it looks to me. But one can't always tell. 
I don't think that you'll never get to be an Archimedes and 
cry out ' Eureka! ' But you've got imagination enough to 
hitch the world to a kite and send it off among the planets 
and shootin' stars, no one knows where. I never did see any 
little shaver that had so much kite-flyin' in his head as you." 

" Archimedes said that if he only had a lever long enough 
he would move the world." 

"He did, hey? Well, little Ben Franklin, you Just put 
up your kite and attend to the candle molds, and let swim- 
min' in the air all go. Whatever may happen on this planet, 
you'll never be likely to move the world with a kite, of all 
tilings, nor with anything else, for that matter. So it looks to 
me, and I'm generally pretty far-sighted. It takes practical 
people to do practical tilings. Still, the old Bible does say that 
' where there is no vision the people perish.' Well, I don't 
know — as I said, we can not always tell — David slew a giant 
with a pebble stone, and you may come to somethin' by some 
accident or other. I'm sure I wish you well. It may be that 
your uncle Benjamin, the poet, will train you when he conies 
to understand you, but his thoughts run to kite-flyin' and such 
things, and he never has amounted to anything at all, I'm 
told. You was named after him, and rightly, I guess. He 
would like to have been a Socrates. But the tape measure 
wouldn't fit his head." 

He saw a shade in the boy's face, and added: 

"He's going to live here, they say. Then there will be 
two of you, and you could fly kites and make up poetry 



THE BOY FRANKLIN'S KITE. 33 

together, if it were not for a dozen mouths to feed, which mat- 
ters generally tend to bring one down from the sky." 

An older son of Josiah Franklin appeared. 

" James," said Jamie, " here's your brother Ben; he's been 
sailin' with the sail in the sky. He ought to be keerful of his 
talents. There's no knowin' what they may lead up to. When 
a person gets started in such ways as these there's no knowin' 
how far he may go." 

Brother James opened the weather door at the Blue Ball. 
The bell tinkled and Ben followed him in, and the two sat 
down to bowls of bread, sweet apples, and milk. 

" What have you been doing, Ben ? " asked Brother James. 

Little Ben did not answer. He got up from the table and 
went away downhearted, with his face in his jacket sleeve. It 
hurt liim to be laughed at, but his imagination was a comfort- 
ing companion to him in hours like these. 

He could go kite-flying in his mind, and no one could see 
the flight. 

" One can not make an eagle run around a barnyard like 
a hen," said a sage observer of life. There was the blood of 
noble purposes in little Ben Franklin's vein, if his ancestors 
were blacksmiths and his grandmother had been a white slave 
whose services were bought and sold. He had begun kite-fly- 
ing; he will fly a kite again one day. 



CHAPTEE VI. 



LITTLE ben's GUINEA PIG. 



Ben loved little animals. He not only liked to have them 
about him, but it gave him great joy to protect them. One of 
his pets was a guinea pig. 

" There are few traits of character that speak better for 
the future of a boy than that which seeks to protect the help- 
less and overlooked in the brute creation," said Uncle Benjamin 
to Abiah Franklin one day. " There are not many animals 
that have so many enemies as a guinea pig. Cats, dogs, and 
even the hens run after the harmless little thing. I wonder 
that this one should be alive now. He would have been dead 
but for Ben." 

Abiah had been spinning. It was a windy day, and the 
winds, too, had been spinning as it were around the house. 
She had stopped to rest in her work. But the winds had not 
stopped, but kept up a sound like that of the wheel. 

" You are always saying good things about little Ben," 
said Abiah. '' What is it that you see in him that is different 
from other boys ? " 

" Personality," said Uncle Ben. " Look at him now, out 
in the yard. He has been protecting the pigeon boxes from the 
wind, and after them the rabbit warren. He is always seeking 

84 



LITTLE BEN'S GUINEA PIG. 35 

to make life more comfortable for everybody and everything. 
Now, Abiah, a heart that seeks the good of others will never 
want for a friend and a home. This personality will make for 
him many friends and some enemies in the future. The power 
of life lies in the heart." 

The weather door opened, and little Ben came into the 
room and asked for a cooky out of the earthen jar. 

" Where's your guinea pig, my boy ? " asked Uncle Benja- 
min. " I only see him now and then." 

" Why do you call him a guinea pig, uncle ? " asked little 
Ben. " He did not come from Guinea, and he is not a pig. 
He came from South America, where it is warm, and he is a 
covey; he is not a bit of a rabbit, and not a pig." 

"Where do you keep him?" asked Uncle Benjamin. 

" I keep him where he is warm, uncle. It makes my heart 
all shrink up to see the little thing shiver when the wind strikes 
him. It is cruel to bring such animals into a climate like 
this." 

" There are tens of thousands of guinea pigs, or coveys, in 
the land where they are found. Yes, millions, I am told. One 
guinea pig don't count for much." 

" But, uncle, one feels the cold wind as much as another 
would — as much as each of all the millions would." 

" But, Ben, you have not answered my question. Where 
is the little covey now?" 

Little Ben colored red, and looked suspiciously toward the 
door of the room in which his father was at work. He pres- 
ently saw his father's paper hat through the light over the 
door, and said: 



36 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Let me tell you some other time, uncle. They will laugh 
at me if I tell you now." 

" Benjamin," said his mother, " we are going to have a 
family gathering this year on the anniversary of the day when 
your father landed here in 1G85. The family are all coming 
home, and the two Folger girls — the schoolmarms — will be 
here from Nantucket. You will have to take the guinea-pig 
box out of your room under the eaves. The Folger girls are 
very particular. What would your aunts Hannah and Patience 
Folger, the schoolmarms, say if they were to find your room 
a sty for a guinea pig? " 

" My little covey, mother," said Ben. " I'll put the cage 
into the shop. No, he would he killed there. I'll put him 
where he will not oifend my aunts, mother." 

Abiah Folger began to spin again, and the wheel and the 
wind united did indeed make a lonely atmosphere. Uncle 
Benjamin punched the fire, which roared at times lustily 
under the great shelf where were a row of pewter platters. 

Little Ben drew near the fire. Suddenly Uncle Ben 
started. 

" Oh, my eyes! what is that, Ben? " 

Ben looked about. 

" I don't see anything, uncle." 

" Your coat sleeve keeps jumping. I have seen it four 
or five times. What is the matter there?" 

Uncle Ben put the tongs in the chimney nook, and said: 

" There is a bunch on your arm, Ben." 

" No, no, no, uncle." 

*' There is, and it moves about." 



LITTLE BEN'S GUINEA PIG. 37 

" I have no wound, or boil, nor anything, uncle." 

" There it goes again, or else my head is wrong. There! 
there! Abiah, stop spinning a minute and come here." 

The wheel stopped. Abiah, with a troubled look, came 
to the hearth and leaned over it with one hand against the 
shelf. 

" What has he been doing now? " she asked in a troubled 
tone. 

"Look at his arm there! It bulges out." 

Uncle Ben put out his hand to touch the protrusion. He 
laid his finger on the place carefully, when suddenly the bunch 
was gone, and just then appeared a little head outside the 
sleeve. 

"I told you that there was something there! I knew that 
there was all the time." 

There was — it was the little covey or guinea pig. 

"What did I tell you before Ben came in?" said Uncle 
Benjamin. 

Little Ben did not know what his uncle had said to his 
mother before he opened the door; but he heard him say 
now mysteriously: 

" It is a cold day for shelterless things. That little bunch 
on his arm illustrates what I mean by personality. There are 
more guinea pigs than one in this cold world." 

Abiah went to her wheel in silence, and it began to buzz 
again. 

Little Ben went into the room where his father was at 
work. 

The wheel stopped. 



38 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" I do love that boy," said Abiah, " notwithstanding all 
the fault they find with him." 

" So do I, Abiah. I'm glad that you made him my god- 
son. All people are common in this world except those who 
have personality. He had a great-uncle that was just like him, 
and, Abiah, he became a friend of Lord Halifax." 

"■ I am afraid that poor little Ben, after all his care of the 
guinea pig, will never commend himself to Lord Halifax. But 
we can not tell." 

" No, Abiah, we can not tell, but stranger things have 
happened, and such things begin in that way. 






CHAPTER VII. 

UXCLE TOM, WHO ROSE IN THE WORLD. 

Little Ben had some reasons to dread the visits of his two 
stately aunts from Nantucket, the schoolmarms, whom his 
mother called " the girls." 

But one November day, as he came home after the arrival 
of the stage from Salem, he was met at the door by his uncle 
with the question: 

"Who do you think has come?" 

" I don't know, uncle. Josiah ? " 

" No." 

"Brother John from Rhode Island? Esther and Martha 
from school? Zachary from Annapolis?" 

" Not right yet." 

" Esther and Martlia from school at Nantucket? " 

" Yes; and your Aunt Hannah and Aunt Prudence have 
come with them, with bandboxes, caps, snuffboxes, and all. 
They came on the sloop. It is a time for little boys to be quiet 
now, and to keep guinea pigs and such things well out of 
sight." 

"How long are tJiey going to stay, uncle?" 

By " they " he referred to his aunts. 

" A week or more, I guess. This will be your still week." 

39 



40 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" But I can not keep still, uncle; I am a boy." 

Little Benjamin went into the home room and there met 
his stately aunts, the school teachers. 

There was a great fire in the room, and the pewter platters 
shone there like silver. His aunts received him kindly, but in 
a very condescending way. They had not yet discovered 
any " personality " in the short, little boy of the numerous 
family. 

The aunts delighted in imparting moral instruction, and 
they saw in little Ben, as they thought, a useful opportunity 
for such culture. 

That night the family, with the aunts from jSTantucket, sat 
down by the great fire under the shining platters to hear 
Uncle Benjamin relate a marvelous story. Every family has 
one wonder story, and this was the one wonder story of 
the Franklin side of the family. Uncle Benjamin wished 
the two " aunts " to hear this story '"' on his side of the 
house." 

" There was only one of our family in England who ever 
became great, and that was my Uncle Thomas," he began. 

" Only think of that, little Ben," said Aunt Hannah Fol- 
ger, " only one." 

" Only one," said Aunt Prudence Eolger, " and may you 
become like him." 

" He was born a smith, and so he was bred, for it was the 
custom of our family that the eldest son should be a smith — 
a Franklin." 

" Sit very still, my little boy," said the two aunts, " and 
you shall be told what happened. He was a smith." 



UNCLE TOM, WHO ROSE IN THE WORLD. 41 

" There was a man in our town," continued Uncle Ben, 
" whose name was Pahner, and he became an esquire." 

" Maybe that you will become an esquire," said Aunt 
Esther to Ben. 

" He became an esquire," said Aunt Prudence. " Sit very 
still, and you shall hear." 

" This man liked to encourage people; he used to say 
good things of them so as to help them grow. If one encour- 
age the good things which one finds in people it helps them. 
It is a good thing to say good words." 

" If you do not say too many," said Josiah Franklin. " I 
sometimes think we do to little Ben." 

" AVell, this Esquire Palmer told Uncle Tom one day that 
he would make a good lawyer. Tom was very much surprised, 
and said, ' I am poor; if I had any one to help me I 
would study for the bar.' ' I will help you,' said Esquire 
Palmer. So Uncle Tom dropped the hammer and went to 
school." 

" And you may one day leave the candle shop and go to 
school," said Aunt Esther, moralizing. 

" I hope so," said little Ben humbly. 

" Not but that the candle shop is a very useful place," said 
the other aunt. 

" Uncle Tom read law, and began to practice it in the 
town and county of Northampton. He was public-spirited, 
and he became a leader in all the enterprises of the county, and 
people looked up to him as a great man. Everything that he 
touched improved." 

" Just think of that," said Aunt Esther to Ben. " Every- 



42 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

thing that he touched improved. That is the way to make 
success for yourself — help others." 

" May you profit by his example, Ben/' said Aunt Pru- 
dence, bobbing her cap border. 

" He made everything better — the church, the town, the 
public ways, the societies, the homes. He was a just man, and 
he used to say that what the world wanted was justice. Every- 
body found him a friend, except he who was unjust. And at 
last Lord Halifax saw how useful he had become, and he 
honored him with his friendship. AVhen he died, which was 
some fourteen years ago, all the people felt that they had lost 
a friend." 

The two aunts bowed over in reverence for such a character. 
Aunt Esther did more than this. She put lier finger slowly and 
impressively on little Ben's arm, and said: 

" It may be that you will grow up and be like him." 

" Or like Father Folger," added Aunt Prudence, who 
wished to remind Uncle Benjamin that the Folgers too had 
a family history. 

Little Ben was really impressed by the homely story which 
he now heard a second time. It presented a looking-glass to 
him, and he saw himself in it. He looked up to his Uncle 
Ben with an earnest face, and said: 

" I would like to help folks, too; why can I not, if Uncle 
Tom did?" 

" A very proper remark," said Aunt Esther. 

" Very," said Aunt Prudence. 

" Good intentions are all right," said Josiah Franklin. 
" They do to sail away with, but where will one land if he has 



UNCLE TOM, WHO ROSE IN THE WORLD. 43 

not got the steering gear? That is a good story, Brother Ben. 
Encourage little Ben here all you can; it may be that you 
might have become a man like Uncle Tom if you had had 
some esquire to encourage you." 

The aunts sat still and thought of this suggestion. 

Then Josiah played on his violin, and the two aunts told 
tales of the work of their good father among the Indians of 
Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. 

A baby lay in Abiah Franklin's arms sleeping while these 
family stories were related. It was a girl, and they had 
named her Jane, and called her '' Jenny." 

Amid the story-telling Jenny awoke, and put out her arms 
to Ben. 

" The baby takes to Ben," said the mother. " The first 
person that she seemed to notice was Ben, and she can hardly 
keep her little eyes off of him." 

Ben took little Jenny into his arms. . 

As Uncle Benjamin grcAv older the library of pamphlets 
that he had sold and on whose margins he had written the 
best thoughts of his life haunted him. He would sometimes 
be heard to exclaim: 

"Those pamphlets! those pamphlets!" 

" Why do you think so much of the lost pamphlets, 
uncle?" said little Ben. 

"Hoi, Ben, hoi! 'tis on your account, Ben. I want you 
to have them, Ben, and read them when you are old; and I 
want my son Samuel to have them, although his mind does 
not turn to philosophy as yours does. It tore my heart to 
part with them, but I did it for you. One must save or be a 



44 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

slave. You see what it is to be poor. But it is all right, Ben, 
as the book of Job tells us; all things that happen to a man 
with good intentions are for his best good." 

It was Uncle Benjamin's purpose to mold the character of 
his little godson. He had the Froebel ideas, although he lived 
before the time of the great apostle of soul education. 

" The first thing for a boy like you, Ben, is to have a defi- 
nite purpose, and the next is to have fixed habits to carry 
forward that purpose, to make life automatic." 

"What do you mean by automatic, uncle?" 

" Your heart beats itself, does it not ? You do not make 
it beat. Your muscles do their work without any thought on 
your part; so the stomach assimilates its food. The first thing 
in education, more than cultivation of memory or reason, is 
to teach one to do right, right all the time, because it is just 
as the heart beats and the muscles or the stomach do their 
work. I want so to mold you that justice shall be the law 
of your life — so that to do right all the time will be a part of 
your nature. This is the first principle of home education." 

Little Ben only in part comprehended this simple phi- 
losophy. 

" But, uncle," said he, " what should be my purpose in 
life? " 

" You have the nature of your great-uncle Tom — you love 
to be doing things to help others, just as he did. The purpose 
of your life should be to improve things. Genius creates 
things, but benevolence improves things. You will under- 
stand what I mean some day, when you shall grow up and go 
to England and hear the chimes of Northampton ring." 



UNCLE TOM, WHO ROSE IN THE WORLD. 45 

Uncle Benjamin liked to take little Ben out to sea. They 
journeyed so far that they sometimes lost sight of the State 
House, the lions and unicorns, and the window from which 
new kings and royal governors had been proclaimed. 

These excursions were the times that Uncle Ben sought 
to mold the will of little Ben after the purpose that he saw 
in him. He told him the stories of life that educate the im- 
agination, that help to make fixed habit. 

"If I only had those pamphlets," he said on these excur- 
sions, " what a help they would be to us! You will never for- 
get those pamphlets, will you, Ben ? " 



CHAPTEE VIII. 

LITTLfi BEN SHOWS HIS HANDWRITING TO THE FAMILY. 

Mr. George Brownell kept a writing school, and little 
Ben was sent to him to learn to write his name and to " do 
sums." 

Franklin did indeed learn to write his name — very neatly 
and with the customary flourish. In this respect he greatly 
pleased the genial old master. 

" That handwriting," he said, " is fit to put hefore a king. 
Maybe it will be some day, who knows? But, Ben," he added, 
" I am sorry to say it, although you write your name so well, 
you are a dunce at doing your sums. Now, if I were in your 
place I would make up for that." 

In picturing these encouraging schooldays in after years, 
Benjamin Franklin kindly says of the old pedagogue: " He 
was a skillful m.aster, and successful in his profession, em- 
ploying the mildest and most encouraging methods. Under 
him I learned to write a good hand pretty soon, but he could 
not teach me arithmetic." 

One afternoon, toward evening, after good Master Brownell 
had encouraged him by speaking well of his cop}^ book, he 
came home with a light heart. He found his Uncle Benja- 

46 



LITTLE BEN SHOWS HIS HANDWRITING. 47 

min, and his cousin, Samuel Franklin, Uncle Benjamin's son, 
at the candle shop. 

" Uncle Benjamin," he said, " I have something to show 
you; I have brought home my copy book. Master Brownell 
says it is done pretty well, but that I ought to do my sums 
better, and that I ' must make up for that.' " 

" He is right, little Ben. We have to try to make up for 
our defects all our lives. Let me look at the book. Now that 
is what I call right good writing." 

"Do you see anything peculiar about it?" asked Ben. 
" Master Brownell said that it was good enough to' set before 
a, king, and that it might be, some day." 

Little Ben's big brothers, who had come in, laughed, and 
slapped their hands on their knees. 

Josiah Franklin left his tallow boiling, and said: 

" Let me see it, Ben." 

He mounted his spectacles and held up the copy book, 
turning his eyes upon the boy's signature. 

" That flourish to your name does look curious. It is all 
tied up, and seems to come to a conclusion, as though your 
mind had carried out its original intention. There is char- 
acter in the flourish. Ben, you have done well. But you 
must make up for your sums. — Brother Ben, that is a good 
hand, but I guess the sun will go around and around the 
world many times before kings ever set their eyes on it. 
But it will tell for sure. The good Book says, ' Seest 

thou a man diligent in his business ' Well, you all 

know the rest. I repeat that text often, so that my boys 
can hear." 



48 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

Samuel Franklin, Uncle Ben's son, examined the copy 
book. 

" Samuel," said Uncle Ben, " I used to write a hand some- 
thing like that. I wish that I had my pamphlets; I would 
show you my hand at the time of the Eestoration. I used to 
write political proverbs in my pamphlets in that way. 

" I want you," he continued, " to honor that handwriting, 
and do your master credit. The master has tried to do well 
by you. I hope that handwriting may be used for thd bene- 
fit of others; live for influences, not for wealth or fame. 
My life will not fail if I can live in you and Samuel here. 
Remember that everything that you do for others will send 
you up the ladder of life, and I will go with you, even if the 
daisies do then blow over me. 

" Ben, you and Samuel should be friends, and, if you 
should do well in life, and he should do the same — which 
Heaven grant that he may! — I want you sometimes to meet 
by the gate post and think of me. 

" If you are ever tempted to step downward, think of me, 
Ben; think of me, Samuel. Meet sometimes at the gate post, 
and remember all these things. You will be older some day, 
and I will be gone." 

The old man held up the copy book again. 

" ' Fit to set before kings,' " he repeated. " That was a 
great compliment." 

Little Jane, the baby, seeing the people all pleased, held 
out her hands to Ben. 

" Jenny shall see it," said Ben. He took the copy book 
and held it up before her eyes. She laughed with the rest. 



LITTLE BEN SHOWS HIS HANDWRITING. 



49 



That signature was to remap the world. It was to be set 
to four documents that changed the history of mankind. 
Eeader, would you like to see how a copy of it looked? We 
may fancy that the curious flourish first saw the light in Mr. 
Brownell's school. 




CHAPTER IX. 



UNCLE benjamin's SECEET. 



Little Ben was fond of making toy boats and ships and 
sailing them. He sometimes took them to the pond on the 
Common, and sometimes to wharves at low tide. 

One day, as he was going out of the door of the sign of 
the Blue Ball, boat in hand. Uncle Benjamin followed him. 

The old man with white hair watched the boy fondly day 
by day, and he found in him many new things that made him 
proud to have him bear his name. 

" Ben," he called after him, " may I go too? " 

" Yes, j'es. Uncle Benjamin. I am going down beside 
Long Wharf. Let us take Baby Jane, and I will leave the 
boat behind. The baby likes to go out with us." 

The old man's heart was glad to feel the heart that was 
in the voice. * 

Little Ben took Baby Jane from his mother's arms, and 
they went toward the sea, where were small crafts, and sat 
down on board of one of the safely anchored boats. It was a 
sunny day, with a light breeze, and the harbor lay before them 
bright, calm, and fair. 

"Ben, let us talk together a little. I am an old man; I 
do not know how many years or even days more I may have 

50 




Uncle Benjamin's secret. 



UNCLE BENJAMIN'S SECRET. 51 

to spend witli you. I hope many, for I have always loved to 
live, and, since I have come to know yon and to give my heart 
to you, life is dearer to me than ever. I have a secret which 
I wish to tell you. 

" Ben, as I have said, I have found in you persojiality. You 
do not fully know what that means now. Think of it fifty 
years from now, then you will know. You just now gave up 
your boat-sailing for me and the baby. You like to help 
others to be more comfortable and happy, and that is the way 
to grow. That is the law of life, and the purpose of life is 
to grow. You may not understand what I mean now; think 
of what I say fifty years from now. 

" Ben, I have faith in you. I want that you should always 
remember me as one who saw what was in you and believed 
in you." 

"Is that the secret that. you wanted to tell me, uncle?" 
asked little Ben. 

" No, no, no, Ben ; I am a poor man after a hard life. You 
do pity me, don't you? Where are my ten children now, ex- 
cept one? Go ask the English graveyard. My wife is gone. I 
am almost alone in the world. All bright things seemed to be 
going out in my life when you came into it bearing my name. 
I like to tell you this again and again. Oh, little Ben, you 
do not know how I love you! To be with you is to be happy. 

" One after one my ten children went away to their long 
rest where the English violets come and go. Two after one 
they went, three after two, and four after three. I lost my 
property, and Samuel went to America, and I was told that 
Brother Josiah had named you for me and made me your 



52 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

godfather. Then, as there was nothing but graves left for 
me in old England, I wished to come to America too. 

" Ben, Ben, you have heard all this before, but, listen, I 
must tell you more. I wanted to cross the ocean, but I had lit- 
tle money for such a removal, and I used to walk about London 
with empty hands and wish for £100, and my wishes brought 
me nothing but sorrow, and I would go to my poor lodgings 
and weep. Oh, you can not tell how I used to feel! 

" I had a few things left — they were as dear to me as my 
own heart. I am coming to the secret now, Ben. You are 
asking in your mind what those things were that I sold; they 
were the things most precious of all to me, and among them 
were — were my pamphlets." 

The old man bowed over, and his lip quivered. 

"What were your pamphlets, uncle? You said that you 
would explain to me what they were." 

" Ben, there are some things that we come to possess that 
are a part of ourselves. Our heart goes into them — our blood 
— our life — our hope. It was so with my pamphlets, Ben. 
This is the secret I have to tell. 

" I loved the cause of the Commonwealth — Cromwell's 
days. In the last days of the Commonwealth, when I had but 
little money to spare, I used to buy pamphlets on the times. 
"When I had read a pamphlet, thoughts would come to me. 
I did not seem to think them; they came to me, and I used to 
note these thoughts down on the margins of the leaves in the 
pamphlets. Those thoughts were more to me than anything 
that I ever had in life." 

" I would have felt so too, uncle." 



UNCLE BENJAMIN'S SECRET. 53 

" Years passed, and I had a little library of pamphlets, the 
margins filled with m}^ own thoughts. Poetry is the soul's 
vision, and I wrote my poetry on those pamphlets. Ben, oh, 
my pamphlets! my pamphlets! They were my soul; all the 
best of me went into them. 

" Well, Ben, times changed. King Charles returned, and 
the Commonwealth vanished, but I still added to my pamphlets 
for years and years. Then I heard of you. I always loved 
Brother Josiah, and my son was on this side of the water, and 
the longing grew to sail for America, where my heart then 
was, as I have told you." 

" I see how you felt, uncle." 

" I dreamed how to get the money; I prayed for the money. 
One day a London bookseller said to me : ' You have been col- 
lecting pamphlets. Have you one entitled Human Freedom ' ? 
I answered that I had, but that it was covered with notes. He 
asked me to let him come to my lodgings and read it. He 
came and looked over all my pamphlets, and told me that a 
part of the collection had become rare and valuable; that 
they might have a value in legal cases that would arise owing 
to the change in the times. He offered to buy them. I refused 
to sell them, on account of what I had written on the margins 
of the leaves. What I wrote were my revelations. 

" He went away. Then my loneliness increased, and my 
longing to come to America. I could sell my valuables, and 
among them the pamphlets, and this would give me money 
wherewith to make the great change." 

"You sold them, uncle?" 

" When I thought of Brother Josiah, I was tempted to do 



54 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

it. But I at first said ' No.' When I heard that my son was 
making a home for himself here, I again was tempted to do it. 
But I said, ' No.' I could not sell myself. 

" Then there came a letter from Brother Josiah. It said: 
' I have another son. We have named him Benjamin, after 
you. We have named you as his godfather.' 

" Then I sat down on the side of the bed in my room, and 
the tears fell. 

" ' ^¥e have named Mm Benjamin ' — how those words went 
to my heart! " 

" It was the first time that you ever heard of me, wasn't 
it, uncle?" 

" Yes, yes; it makes me happy to hear you say that. And 
you' will never forget me, will you, Ben?" 

" Never, uncle, if I live to he eighty years old! But, uncle, 
you sold the pamphlets! " 

" Yes. When I read your name in Josiah's letter I felt 
a weight lifted from my mind. I said to myself that I would 
part with myself— that is, the pamphlets— for you." 

" Did you sell them for me, uncle? " 

" Yes, I sold them for you, Benjamin." 

"What was the man's name that brought them, uncle?" 

"I hoped that you would ask me that. His name was 
Axel. Repeat it, Ben." 

" Axel." 

" It is a hard name to forget." 

" I shall never forget it, uncle." 

"Ben, you may go to London sometime." 

" We are all poor now," 



UNCLE BENJAMIN'S SECRET. 55 

" But you have personality, and people who look out for 
others are needed by others for many things. Maybe they will 
sometime send you there." 

"Who, uncle?" 

" Oh, I don't know. But if ever you should go to London, 
go to all the old bookstores, and what name will you look for? " 

"Axel, uncle." 

" Ben, those are not books; they are myself. I sold my- 
self when I sold them — I sold myself for you. Axel, Ben, 
Axel." 

Little Ben repeated " Axel," and wondered if he would 
ever see London or meet with his uncle in those pamphlets 
which the latter claimed to be his other self. 

" Axel," he repeated, pinching Baby Jane's cheek. Baby 
Jane laughed in the sunlight on the blue sea when she saw 

the excitement in Ben's face. 

I 

said 



The tide was coming in, the boat was rocking, and Ben 



We must go home now, for Jenny's sake." 



CHAPTER X. 

THE .STONE WHARF, AKD LADY WIGGLEWORTH, WHO FELL 

ASLEEP IN CHURCH. 

Did little Ben's trumpet and gun indicate that he would 
become a statesman whose cause would employ armies? Wc 
do not know. The free will of a boy on the playground is 
likely to present a picture of his leading traits of character. 
In old New England days there was a custom of testing a 
child's character in a novel way. A bottle, a coin, and a Bible 
were laid on the floor at some distance apart to tempt the no- 
tice of the little one when he first began to creep. It was 
supposed that the one of the three objects that he crept toward 
and seized upon was prophetic of his future character — that 
the three objects represented worldly pleasure, the seeking for 
wealth, and the spiritual life. 

Franklin's love for public improvements was certainly in- 
dicated in his early years. He liked the water and boats, and 
he saw how convenient a little wharf near his house would 
be; so he planned to build one, and laid his plans before his 
companions. 

" We will build it of stone," he said. '^ There are plenty 
of stones near the wharf." 

5G 



THE STONE WHARF, AND LADY WIGGLE WORTH. 57 

" But the workmen there would not let us have them," 
said a companion. 

" We will take them after they have gone from their work. 
We can build the wharf in a single evening. The workmen 
may scold, but they will not scold the stone landing out of the 
water again." 

One early twilight of a long day the boys assembled at the 
place chosen by young Franklin for his wharf, and began to 
work like beavers, and before the deep shadows of night they 
had removed the stones to the water and builded quite a little 
wharf or landing. 

" We can catch minnows and sail our boats from here 
now," said young Franklin as he looked with pride on the 
triumphs of his plan. " All the boys will be free to use 
this landing," he thought. " Won't it make the people 
wonder! " 

It did. 

The next morning the weather door of the thrifty tallow 
chandler opened with a ring. 

" Josiah Franklin, where is that boy of yours?" asked a 
magistrate. 

The paper cap bobbed up, and the man at the molds bent 
his head forward with wondering eyes. 

" Which boy? " 

" Ben, the one that is always leading other boys round." 

" I dunno. He's making a boat — or was. — Benjamin! " he 
called; "I say, Benjamin!" 

The door of the living room opened, and little Ben ap- 
peared. 



58 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Here's a man who has come to see you. What have you 
been doing now? " 

" Boy/' said the man — he spoke the word so loudly that 
the little boy felt that it raised him almost to the dignity of 
a man. 

"What, sir?" gasped Ben, very intelligent as to what 
would follow. 

"Did you put those stones into the water?" 

" Yes, sir." 

"What did you do that for?" 

" To make a wharf, sir." 

" ' To make a wharf, sir! ' Didn't you have the sense to 
know that those stones were building stones and belonged to 
the workmen ? " 

" No, sir; I didn't know that they belonged to any one. 
I thought that they belonged to everybody." 

"You did, you little rascal! Then why did you wait to 
have the workmen go away before you put them into the 
water?" 

" The workmen would have hindered us, sir. They don't 
think that improvements can be made by little shavers like 
us. I wanted to surprise them, sir — to show them what we 
could do, sir." 

" Benjamin Franklin," said Josiah, " come here, and I 
will show you what I can do. — Stranger, the boy's godfather 
has come to live with us and to take charge of him, and he 
does need a godfather, if ever a stripling did." 

Josiah Franklin laid his hand on the boy, and the work- 
man went away. The father removed the boy's jacket, and 



THE STONE WHARF, AND LADY WIGGLEWORTH. 59 

showed him what he could do, the memory of which was not a 
short one. 

" I did not mean any harm, father," young Benjamin said 
over and over. " It was a mistake." 

" My hoy," said the tallow chandler, softening, " never 
make a second mistake. There are some people who learn 
wisdom from their first mistakes by never making second 
mistakes. May you be one of them." 

" I shall never do anything that I don't think is honest, 
father. I thought stones and rocks belonged to the people." 

" But there are many things that belong to the people in 
this world that you have no right to use, my son. When 
you want to make any more public improvements, first come 
and talk with me about them, or go to your Uncle Ben, 
into whose charge I am going to put you — and no small job he 
will have of it, in my thinking! " 

Benjamin Franklin said, when he was growing old and was 
writing his own life, that his father convinced him at the time 
of this event that " that which is not honest could not be 
useful." 

We can see in fancy his father with a primitive switch 
thus convincing him. He never forgot the moral lesson. 

Where was Jamie the Scotchman during this convincing 
episode? When he heard that the little wharf -builder, burst- 
ing with desire for public improvement, had fallen into dis- 
grace, he came upon him slyly: 

" So you've been building a wharf for the boys of the town. 
When one begins so soon in life to improve the town, there 
can be no telling what he will do when he grows up. Per- 



60 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

haps you will become one of the great benefactors of Boston 
yet. Who knows? " 

" We can't tell," said the future projector of Franklin 
Park, philosophically. 

" No, that is a fact, bubby. Take your finger out of your 
mouth and go to cutting candle wicks. It must make a family 
proud to have in it such a promising one as you! You'll be 
apt to set something ablaze some day if you keep on as you've 
begun." 

He did. 

Jamie the Scotchman went out, causing the bell on the 
door to ring. He whistled lustily as he went down the street. 

Little Benjamin sat cutting wicks for the candle molds 
and wondering at the ways of the world. He had not intended 
to do wrong. He may have thought that the stones, although 
put aside by the workmen, were common property. He had 
made a mistake. But how are mistakes to be avoided in life? 
He would ask his Uncle Benjamin, the poet, when he should 
meet him. It was well, indeed, never to make a second mis- 
take, but better not to make any mistake at all. Uncle 
Benjamin was wise, and could write poetry. He would ask 
him. 

Besides Jamie the Scotchman, who spent much time at the 
Blue Ball, little Benjamin's brother James seems to have 
looked upon him as one whose activities of mind were too ob- 
vious, and needed to be suppressed. 

The evening that followed the disgrace of little Ben was 
a serious one in the Franklin family. Uncle Ben had " gone 
to meeting " in the Old South Church. 



THE STONE WHARF, AND LADY WIGGLEWORTH. 61 

The shop, with its molded candles, dipped candles, ingot 
bars of soap, pewter molds, and kettles, was not an unpleasant 
place in the evening, and old sea captains used to drop in to 
talk with Josiah, and sometimes the leading members of the 
Old South Cliurch came to discuss church affairs, which were 
really town affairs, for the church governed the town. 

On this particular night little Ben sat in the corner of the 
shop very quietly, holding little Jane as usual. The time had 
come for a perfect calm in his life, and he himself was well 
aware how becoming was silence in his case. 

Among those who used to come to the shop evenings to 
talk with Josiah and Uncle Ben, the poet, was one Captain 
Holmes. He came to-night, stamping his feet at the door, 
causing the bell to ring very violently and the faces of some 
of the Franklin children to appear in the window framed 
over the shop door. How comical they looked! 

" Where's Ben to-night ? " asked Captain Holmes. 

Little Ben's heart thumped. He thought the captain 
meant him. 

" He's gone to meetin'," said Josiah. " Come, sit down. 
Ben will be at home early." 

Little Ben's heart did not beat so fast now. 

"Where's that boy o' yourn?" asked the captain. 

Ben's heart began to beat again. 

" There, in the corner," said Josiah, with a doubtful look 
in his face. 

" He'll be given to making public improvements when he 
grows up," said the captain. " But I hope that he will not 
take other people's property to do it. If there is any type 



G2 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

of man for whom I have no use it is he who does good with 
what belongs to others." 

The door between the shop and the living room opened, 
and the grieved, patient face of Abiah appeared. 

" Good evening, Captain Holmes," said Abiah. " I heard 
what you said — how could I help it? — and it hurt me. No 
descendant of Peter Folger will ever desire to use other peo- 
ple's property for his own advantage. Ben won't." 

" That's right, my good woman, stand up for your own. 
Every drop of an English exile's blood is better than its weight 
in gold." 

" Ben is a boy," said Abiah. '" If he makes an error, it will 
be followed by a contrite heart." 

Little Ben could hear no more. He flew, as it were, up 
to the garret chamber and laid down on the trestle bed. A 
pet squirrel came to comfort him or to get some corn. He 
folded the squirrel in his bosom. 

Ting-a-ling! It was Uncle Ben, the poet, whose name he 
had disgraced. He could endure no more; he began to sob, 
and so went to sleep, his little squirrel pitying him, perhaps. 

There was another heart that pitied the boy. It was Uncle 
Ben's. Poor Uncle Ben! He sleeps now at the side of the 
Franklin monument in the Granary burying ground, and we 
like to cast a kindly glance tluit way as we pass the Park Street 
Church on Tremont Street, on the west side. It is a good thing 
to have good parents, and also to have a good uncle with a 
poetic mind and a loving heart. 

There was one trait in little Benjamin's character that 
Josiah Franklin saw with his keen eye to business, and it gave 



THE STONE WHARF, AND LADY WIGGLEWORTH. (]3 

him hope. lie was diligent. One of Josiah Franklin's favor- 
ite texts of Scripture was, " Seest thou a man diligent in his 
business? he shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before 
mean men." This text he used to often repeat, or a part of it, 
and little Ben must have thought that it applied to him. Hints 
of hope, not detraction, build a boy. 

Jamie the Scotchman had little expectation that puttering 
Ben would ever " stand before kings." Not he. He had not 
that kind of vision. 

" Ah, boy, I could tell you a whole history of diligent boys 
who not only came to stand before kings, but who overturned 
thrones; and he who discrowns a king is greater than a king," 
said he one day. " Think what you might become." 

" Maybe I will." 

"Will what?" 

" Be some one in the world." 

" Sorry a boy you would make to ' stand before kings,' and 
I don't think you'll ever be likely to take oft' the crown from 
anybody. So your poor old father might as well leave that text 
out of the Scriptures. There are no pebbles in your sling of 
life. If there were, wonders would never cease. You are 
just your Uncle Ben over again. I'm sorry for ye, and for 
all." 

Little Ben looked sorry too, and he wondered if there 
really were in the text something prophetic for him, or if 
Jamie the Scotchman were the true seer. But many poor 
boys had come to stand before kings, and some such boys had 
left tyrants without a crown. 

Jamie the Scotchman thought that he had the gift of 



64 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" second sight/' as a consciousness of future events was called, 
but he usually saw shadows. He liked to talk to himself, walk- 
ing with his hands behind him. 

After his dire prophecy concerning the future of little Ben 
he walked down to Long Wharf with Uncle Benjamin, talking 
to himself for the latter to hear. 

" Ye can't always tell," said he; "I didn't speak out of 
the true inward spirit when I said those things. It hurt the 
little shaver to tell him there was no future in him; I could 
see it did. The boy has a curious way of saying wise things; 
such words fly out of his mouth like swallows from a cave. 
If I were to take up a dead brand in the blacksmith's shop 
and he was around, as he commonly is, he would say, ' The 
more you handle a burned stick the smuttier you become '; 
or if I were to pick up a horseshoe there, and say, ' For the 
want of a nail the shoe was lost,' he would answer, ' And for 
want of a shoe the horse was lost.' Then, after a time, he 
would add, ' For want of a horse the rider was lost,' and so 
on. His mind works in that way. Maybe he'll become a phi- 
losopher. Philosophers stand before kings. I now have the 
true inner sight and open vision. I can see a streak of light 
in that curious gift of his. But blood tells, and his folks on 
his father's side were blacksmiths over in England, and phi- 
losophers don't come from the forge more'n eagles do from the 
hen yard. 

" I said what I did to stimulate him. It cut the little 
shaver to the quick, didn't it? Now he wouldn't have been so 
cut if there had been nothing there. The Lord forgive me if 
I did wrong! " 



THE STONE WHARF, AND LADY WIGGLEWORTH. 65 

He walked down the wharf to the end. Beyond lay the 
blue harbor and the green islands. The town had only some 
ten thousand inhabitants then, but several great ships lay 
in the harbor under the three hills, two of which now are 
gone. 

The harbor was girded with oaks and pines. Here and 
there a giant elm, still the glory of New England, lifted its 
bowery top like a cathedral amid towns of trees. Sea birds 
screamed low over the waters, and ospreys wheeled high in 
the air. 

Jamie the Scotchman had not many things to occupy his 
thoughts, so he sat down to wonder as to what that curi- 
ous Franklin boy might become. 

A new thought struck him. 

" He has French blood in him — the old family name used 
to be Franklein," he said to himself. " Now what does that 
signify? French blood is gentle; it likes to be free. I don't 
see that it might not be a good thing to have; the French 
like to find out things and give away to others what they 
discover." 

A shell fell into the water before him from high in the 
air. The water spouted up, causing an osprey to swoop down, 
but to rise again. 

Jamie the Scotchman turned his head. 

"You, Ben? You follow me 'round everywhere. What 
makes ye, when I treat ye so ? " 

" If a boy didn't hope for anything he would never have 
the heartache." 

"True, true, my boy; and what of that?" 



66 TEUE TO HIS HOME. 

" I would rather expect something and have the heart- 
ache." 

" No one ever misses his expectations who looks for the 
heartache in this world. But what queer turns your mind 
does take, and what curious questions you do ask! Let us 
return to the Blue Ball." 

They did, through winding streets, one or more of which 
were said to follow the wanderings of William Blackstone's 
cow from the Common. Boston still follows the same inter- 
esting animal. 

There were windmills on the hills and tidemills near the 
water. There was a ferryhoat between Boston and Charles- 
town, and on the now Chelsea side was the great Rumney 
Marsh. On the Common, which was a pasture, was a branch- 
ing elm, a place of executions. Near it was a pond into which 
had been cast the Wishing Stone around which, it was reported, 
that if one went three times at night and repeated the Lord's 
Prayer hachivard at each circuit one might have whatever he 
wished for. Near the pond and the great tree were the Charles 
River marshes. Such was Boston in 1715-'20. 

Little Ben went to the South Church on Sundays, and the 
tithingman was there. The latter sat in the gallery among 
the children with his long rod, called the tithing stick, with 
which he used to touch or correct any boy or girl who 
whispered in meeting, who fell asleep, or who misbehaved. 
Little Ben must have looked from the family pew in awe 
at the tithingman. The old-time ministers pictured the 
Lord himself as being a kind of a tithingman, sitting up 
in heaven and watching out for the unwary. Good Josiah 



THE STONE WHARF, AND LADY WIGGLEWORTH. 67 

Franklin governed the conduct of the children in his own 
pew. You may be sure that none of them whispered there or 
fell asleep or misbehaved. 

The tithingman, who was a church constable, was annually 
elected to keep peace and order in the church. In England 
he collected tithes, or a tenth part of the parish income, which 
the people were supposed, after the Mosaic command, to offer 
to the church. He sometimes wore a peculiar dress; he 
was usually a very solemn-looking man, the good man of 
whom all the children, and some of the old women, stood in 
terror. 

A crafty man was the tithingman in the pursuit of his 
duties. He was on the watch all the time, and, as suspicion 
breeds suspicion, so the children were on the watch for him. 
The sermons were long, the hourglass was sometimes twice 
turned during the service, and the children often kept them- 
selves awake by looking out for the tithingman, who was watch- 
ing out for them. This was hardly the modern idea of heart 
culture and spiritual development, but the old Puritan churches 
made strong men who faced their age with iron purposes. 

We said that the tithingman was sometimes a terror to 
old women. Why was he so? It was sweet for certain good 
old people to sleep in church, and his duties extended to all 
sleepers, young and old. But he did not smite the good old 
ladies with a stick. In some churches, possibly in this one, he 
carefully tickled their noses with a feather. This led to a 
gentle awakening, very charitable and kindly. 

It is a warm summer day. Josiah Franklin's pew is 
crowded, and little Ben has gone to the gallery to sit among 



08 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

the boys. Uncle Ben, the poet, is there, for he sees that the 
family pew is full. 

How can little Ben help whispering now, when the ven- 
erable poet is by his side and will not harshly reprove him, 
and when so many little things are happening that tempt him 
to share his thoughts with his amiable godfather? 

But he restrained himself long and well. 

In her high-backed pew, provided with the luxury of the 
cushion, sat fine old Lady Wiggleworth, all in silks, satins, and 
plumes. Little Ben, looking over the gallery rail, saw that 
my lady's plumes nodded, and he gently touched Uncle Ben 
and pointed down. Suddenly there came a tap of the tithing 
stick on his head, and he was in disgrace. He looked very 
solemn now; so did Uncle Ben. It was a solemn time after one 
had been touched by the tithing rod. 

But the tithingman had seen Lady Wiggleworth's nod- 
ding plumes. Could it be possible that this woman, who 
was received at the Province House, had lost her moral and 
physical control? 

If such a thing had happened, he must yet do his duty. 
He would have done that had the queen been there. The 
law of Heaven makes no exception, nor did he. 

He tiptoed down the stair and stood before the old lady's 
pew. All her plumes were nodding, something like the picture 
of a far ship in a rolling sea. My lady was asleep. 

The tithingman's heart beat high, but his resolution did 
not falter. If it had, it would soon have been restored, for 
my lady began to snore. 

Gently, very gently, the tithingman took from his side 



THE STONE WHARF, AND LADY WIGGLE WORTH. G9 

pocket a feather. He touched with it gently, very gently, a 
sensitive part of the oblivions old lady's nose. She partly 
awoke and brushed her nose with her hand. But her head 
turned to the other side of her shoulders, and she relapsed into 
slumber again. 

The sermon was still beating the sounding-board, and a 
more vigorous duty devolved upon the tithingman. 

He pushed the feather up my lady's nose, where the mem- 
brane was more sensitive and more quickly communicated 
with the brain. He did this vigorously and more vigorously. 
It was an obstinate case. 

" Scat! " 

The tithingman jumped. My lady opened her eyes. The 
sermon was still beating the sounding-board, but she was not 
then aware that she, too, had spoken in meeting. 

There were some queer church customs in the days of 
Boston town. 



CHAPTER XI. 

9 

JENNY. 

Jenny Feanelin, the " pet and beauty of the family," 
Benjamin's favorite sister, was born in 1712, and was six years 
younger than he. 

" My little Jenny," said Josiah, " has the Franklin heart." 
Little Ben found that heart in her baby days, and it was true 
to him to the end. 

Uncle Benjamin had entertained such large hopes of the 
future of little Ben since the boy first sent to him a piece of 
poetry to England, that he wrote of him: 

"For if the bud bear grain, what will the top?" 
and again: 

" When flowers are beautiful before they're blown, 
What rarities will afterward be shown ! 
If trees good fruit un'noculated bear, 
You may be sure't will afterward be rare. 
If fruits are sweet before they've time to yellow, 
How luscious will they be when they are mellow ! " 

He also saw great promise in bright little Jenny, who had 
heart full of sympathy and affection. Jenny, Ben, and Uncle 
Benjamin became one in heart and companionship. 

Beacon Hill was a lovely spot in summer in old Boston 
days. Below it was the Common, with great trees and wind- 



JENNY. 71 

ing ways. It commanded a view of the wide harbor and far 
blue sea. It looked over a curve of the river Charles, and the 
bright shallow inlet or pond, where the Boston and Maine depot 
now stands, that was lilled up from the earth of the fine old 
hillside. The latter place may have been the scene of Ben's 
bridge, which he built in the night in a forbidden way. The 
place is not certainly known. 

Uncle Benjamin, one Sunday after church, took Ben and 
little Jenny, who was a girl then, to the top of the hill. It 
was a showery afternoon in summer — now bright, now over- 
cast — and all the birds were singing on the Common between 
the showers. 

In one of the shining hours between the showers they 
sat down under an ancient forest tree, and little Jenny rested 
her arms on one of the knees of Uncle Benjamin, and Ben 
leaned on the other. The old man looked down on the har- 
bor, which was full of ships, and said: 

" I wish I had my sermons that I left behind. I would 
read one of them to you now." 

" I would rather hear you talk," said Ben, with conscien- 
tious frankness. 

" So would I," said Jenny, who thought that Ben was a 
philosopher even at this early age, and who echoed nearly 
everything that he said. 

" Look over the harbor," said the old man. " There are 
more and more ships coming in every year. This is going to 
be a great city, and America will become a great country. 
Ben, I hope there will never be any wars on this side of the 
water. War is sloth's maintainer, and the shield of pride; 



72 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

it makes many poor and few rich, and fewer wise.* Ben, this 
is going to be a great country, and I want you to he true to the 
new country." 

" I will always be true to my country," said Ben. 

" And I will be true to my home," said little Jenny. 

" So you will, so you will, my darling little pet; I can see 
that," said Uncle Benjamin. 

Ben was so pleased at his echo that he put his arm around 
his sister's neck and kissed her many times. 

The old man's heart was touched at the scene. He thought 
of his lost children, who were sleeping under the cover of the 
violets now. 

" It is going to rain again," he said. " The robins are all 
singing, and we will have to go home. But, children, I want 
to leave a lesson in your minds. Listen to Uncle Ben, 
whose heart is glad to see you so loving toward each other 
and me. 

" More than ivealtli, more than fame, more than anything, is 
the power of the human heart, and that power is developed hy 
seelcing the good of others. Live for influences that multiply, 
and for the things that live. Now what did I say, Ben?" 

" You said that more than wealth, more than fame, 
more than anything, was the power of the human heart, 
and that that power was developed in seeking the good of 
others." 

"That's right, my man. — Now, Jenny, what did I say?" 

" I couldn't repeat all those big words, uncle." 

* The old man's own words to Benjamin on war. 



JENNY. V3 

" Well, you lovely little creeter, you; you do not need to 
repeat it; you know the lesson already; it was born in you; 
you have the Franklin heart! " 

" Beloved Boston," Franklin used to say when he became 
old. What wonder, when it was associated with memories like 
these! 



CHAPTER XII. 

A CHTME OF BELLS IN NOTTINGHAM. 

Some time after Uncle Benjamin, who became familiarly 
known as Uncle Ben, had revealed to little Ben his heart's 
secret, and how that he had for his sake sold his library of 
pamphlets, which was his other self, the two again went down 
to the wharves to see the ships that had come in. 

They again seated themselves in an anchored boat. 

" Ben," said Uncle Benjamin, " I have something more on 
my mind. I did not tell you all M^hen we talked here before. 
You will never forget what I told you — will you?" 

" Never, uncle, if I live to be old. My heart will always 
be true to you." 

" So it will, so it will, Ben. So it will. I want to tell 
you something more about your Great-uncle Thomas. You 
favor him. Did any one ever tell you that the people used 
to think him to be a wizard ? " 

" No, no, uncle. You yourself said that once. What is a 
wizard? " 

" It is a man who can do strange things, no one can tell 
how. They come to him." 

" But what made them think him a wizard? " 

" Oh, people used to be ignorant and superstitious, like 

74 



A CHIME OF BELLS IN NOTTINGHAM. 75 

Eeuben of the Mill, your father's old friend and mine. There 
was an inn called the "World's End, at Ecton, near an old 
farm and forge. The people used to gather there and tell 
stories about witches and wizards that would have made your 
flesh creep, and left you afraid to go to bed, even with a guinea 
pig in your room. 

" Your Great-uncle Thomas was always inventing things to 
benefit the people. At last he invented a way by which it might 
rain and rain, and there might be freshets and freshets, and 
yet their meadows would not be overflown. The water would 
all run ofi: from the meadows like rain from a duck's back. He 
made a kind of drain that ran sideways. Now the pious 
Brownites thought that this was flying in the face of Provi- 
dence, and people began to talk mysteriously about him at 
the World's End. 

" But it was not that which I have heavy on my mind or 
light on my mind, for it is a happy thought. There are not 
many romantic things in our family history. The Franklins 
were men of the farm, forge, and fire. But there was one 
thing in our history that was poetry. It was this — listen now. 

" What was the name of that man to whom I sold the 
pamphlets? " he asked in an aside. 

" Axel." 

" That is right — always remember that name — Axel. 

" Now listen to that other thing. Your uncle, or great- 
uncle Thomas, started a subscription for a chime of bells. 
The family all loved music — that is what makes your father 
play the violin. Your Great-uncle Thomas loved music in the 
air. You may be able to buy a spinet for Jenny some day. 



76 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Now your Great-uncle Thomas's soul is, as it were, in those 
chimes of Nottingham. I pray that you may go to England 
some day before you die and hear the chimes of Nottingham. 
You will hear a part of your own family's soul, my boy. It is the 
things that men do that live. If you ever find the pamphlets, 
which are myself — myself that is gone — you will read in them 
my thoughts on the Toleration Act, and on Liberty, and on the 
soul, and the rights of man. AVhat was the man's name? " 

" Axel." 

" Eight." 

Little Jenny, who loved to follow little Ben, had come 
down to the wharf to hear " Uncle Benjamin talk." She had 
joined them in the boat on the sunny water. She had become 
deeply interested in Uncle Tom and the chimes of Notting- 
ham. 

" Uncle Ben," she asked, " was Uncle Tom ever laughed 
at?" 

" Yes, yes; the old neighbors who would hang about the 
smithy used to laugh at him. They thought him visionary. 
Why did you ask me that ? " 

" What makes people who come to the shop laugh at Ben ? 
It hurts me. I think Ben is real good. He is good to me, and 
I am always going to be good to him. I like Ben better than 
almost anybody." 

" A beneficent purpose is at first ridiculed," said Uncle 
Benjamin. 

Little Ben seemed to comprehend the meaning of this 
principle, but the " big words " were lost on Jenny. 

" He whose good purpose is laughed at," said Uncle Ben- 



A CHIME OF BELLS IN NOTTINGHAM. 77 

jamin, " will be likely to live to laugh at those who laughed 
at him if he so desired; but, hark! a generous man does not 
laugh at any one's right intentions. Ben, never stop to an- 
swer back when they laugh at you. Life is too short. It robs 
the future to seek revenge." 

Uncle Benjamin was right. 

Did little Ben heed the admonition of his uncle on this 
bright day in Boston, to follow beneficence with a ready step, 
and not to stop to " answer back " ? Was little Jenny's heart 
comforted in after years in finding Ben, who was so good to 
her now, commended? We are to follow a family history, and 
we shall see. 

As the three went back to the Blue Ball, Ben, holding his 
uncle by the one hand and Jane by the other, said: 

''' I do like to hear Jane speak well of me, and stand up 
for me. I care more for that than almost any other thing." 

" Well, live that she may always speak well of you," said 
Uncle Benjamin; " so that she may speak well of you when 
you two shall meet for the last time." 

" Uncle," said Jenny, " why do you always have some- 
thing solemn to say? Ben isn't solemn, is he? " 

" ISTo, my girl, your brother Ben is a very lively boy. You 
will have to hold him back some day, I fear." 

" No, no, uncle, I shall always pvish him on. He likes to 
go ahead. I like to see him go — don't you? " 



CHAPTER XIII. 

THE ELDEK FRANKLIN's STORIES. 

Peter Folger, Quaker, the grandfather of Benjamin 
Franklin, was one of those noblemen of Nature whose heart 
beat for humanity. He had been associated in the work of 
Thomas Mayhew, the Indian Apostle, who was the son of 
Thomas Mayhew, Governor of ]\Iartha's Vineyard. The 
younger Mayhew gathered an Indian church of some hun- 
dred or more members, and the Indians so much loved him 
that they remained true to him and their church during 
Philip's war. 

What stories Abiah Franklin could have told, and doubt- 
less did tell, of her old home at Nantucket! — stories of the 
true hearts of the pioneers, of people who loved others more 
than themselves, and not like the sea-rovers who at this time 
were making material for the Pirate's Own Book. 

Josiah, too, had his stories of Old England and the con- 
venticles, heroic tales of the beginning of the long struggle 
for freedom of opinion. Hard and rough were the stories of 
the Commonwealth, of Cromwell, Pym, and Sir Henry Vane, 
the younger. 

There was one very pleasing old tale that haunted Bos- 
ton at this time, of the Hebrew parable order, or after the 

78 



THE ELDER FRANKLIN'S STORIES. ^9 

manner of the German legend. Such stories were rare in those 
days of pirates, Indians, and ghosts, the latter of whom were 
supposed to make their homes in their graves and to come forth 
in their graveclothes, and to set the hearts of unquiet souls to 
beating, and like feet to flying with electrical swiftness before 
the days of electricity. 

Governor Winthrop — the same who got lost in the Mystic 
woods, and came at night to an Indian hut in a tree and 
climbed into it, and was ordered out of it at a later hour 
when the squaw came home — took a very charitable view of 
life. He liked to reform wrongdoers by changing their hearts. 
Out of his large love for every one came this story of old Bos- 
ton days. 

We will listen to it by the Franklin fire in the candle shop. It 
was an early winter tale, and it will be a good warm place to 
hear it there. 

" It is a cold night," said Josiah, " and Heaven pity those 
without fuel on a night like this! There are not overmany 
like Governor Winthrop in the world." 

Abiah drew her chair up nearer to the great fire, for it 
made one chilly to hear the beginning of that story, but the 
end of it made the heart warm. 

" It was in the early days of the colony," said Josiah, " and 
the woods in the winter were bare, and the fields were cold. 
There was a lack of wood on the Mystic near the town. 

" A poor man lived there on the salt marsh with his family. 
He had had a hard time to raise enough for their support. A 
snowstorm came, and his fuel was spent, his hearth was cold, 
and there was nothing to burn. 



80 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" The great house of the Governor rose over the ice-bor- 
dered marshes. Near it were long sheds, and under them 
high piles of wood brought from the hills. 

" The poor man had no wood, but after a little time smoke 
was seen coming out of his chimney. 

"There came one day a man to the Governor, and said: 

" Pardon me. Governor, I am loath in my heart to accuse 
any one, but in the interest of justice I have something which 
I must tell you.' 

" ' Speak on, neighbor.' 

" ' Some one has been stealing your wood.' 

" ' It is a hard winter for the poor. Who has done this? ' 

" ' The man who lives on the marsh.' 

" ' His crop was not large this year.' 

" ' No, it failed.' 

" ' He has a wife and children.' 

" ' True, Governor.' 

" ' He has always borne a good reputation.' 

" ' True, Governor, and that makes the case more diffi- 
cult.' 

" ' Neighbor, don't speak of this thing to others, but send 
that man to me.' 

" The man on the marsh came to the Governor's. His 
face was as white as snow. How he had suffered! 

" ' Neighbor,' said the Governor, ' this is a cold winter.' 

" ' It is, your Honor.' 

" ' I hope that your family are comfortable.' 

" ' No, your Honor; they have sometimes gone to bed sup- 
perless and cold.' 



THE ELDER FRANKLIN'S STORIES. 81 

" ' It hurts my conscience to know that. Have you any 
fuel?' 

" ' None, your Honor. My cliildren have kept their bed for 
warmth.' 

" ' But I have a good woodpile. See the shed: there is 
more wood there than I can burn. I ought not to sit down by 
a comfortable fire night after night, while my neighbor's 
family is cold.' 

" ' I am glad that you are so well provided for, for you are 
a good man, and have a heart to feel for those in need.' 

" ' Neighbor, there is my woodpile. It is yours as well 
as mine. I would not feel warm if I were to sit down by my 
fire and remember that you and your wife and your children 
were cold. When you need any fuel, come to my woodpile and 
take all the wood that you want.' 

" The man on the marsh went away, his head hanging 
down. I believe that there came into his heart the power- 
ful resolution that he would never steal again, and we have 
no record that he ever did. The Governor's hope for him had 
made him another man. 

" He came for the wood in his necessity one day. The 
Governor looked at him pleasantly. 

" ' Why did you not come to me before? ' " 

Josiah Franklin looked around on the group at the fire- 
side, and opened the family Bible. 

" Do you think that the Governor did right, Brother 
Ben?" 

" Well, it isn't altogether clear to me." 

" What do you think, Abiah? " 



82 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Father would have done as he did. He hindered no one, 
but helped every one. He saw life on that side." 

" Well, little Ben, what have you to say? " 

" The Governor looked upon the heart, didn't he? He felt 
for the man. Would it not be Taetter for all to look that way? 
The worth of life depends upon those we help, lift, and make, 
not in those we destroy. I like the old Governor, I do, and 
I am sorry that there are not many more like him. That 
seems like a Luke story, father. Eead a story from Luke." 

Josiah read a story from Luke. 

There followed a long prayer, as usual. Then the children 
kissed their mother and Jenny and crept up to their chamber. 
The nine-o'clock bell had rung, and the streets were still. 
The watchman with his lantern went by, saying, " Nine o'clock, 
and all is well! " None of the family heard him say, " Ten 
o'clock, and all is well! " They were in slumberland after 
their hard, homely toil, and some of them may have been 
dreaming of the good old Governor, who followed literally 
the words of the Master who taught on the Mount of Beati- 
tudes. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



THE TREASURE-FINDEE. 



Little Benjamin once had the boy fever to go to sea, 
This fever was a kind of nervous epidemic among the boys 
of the time, a disease of the imagination as it were. Many 
boys had it in Boston; they disappeared, and the town crier 
called out something like this: 

"Hear ye! 
Hear ye! 
Boy lost — lost — lost! 
Who returns him will be rewarded." 
He rang the bell as he cried. The crier's was the first bell 
that was rung in Boston. 

But why did boys have this peculiar fever in Boston 
and other 'New England towns at this time? It was largely 
owing to the stories that were told them. Few things affect 
the imagination of a boy like a story. De Foe's Robinson 
Crusoe was the live story of the times. Sindbad the sailor was 
not unknown. 

Old sailors used to meet by the Town Pump and spin won- 
derful " yarns," as story-telling of the sea was then described. 
But there was one house in Boston that in itself was a 
story. It was made of brick, and rose over the town, at the 

83 



84 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

North End, in the " Faire Green Lane," now decaying Chatham 
Street. In it lived Sir William Phips, or Phipps, the first 
provincial Governor under the charter which he himself had 
brought from England. 

Sir William had been born poor, in Maine, and had made 
his great fortune by an adventure on the sea. 

The story of Sindbad the Sailor was hardly more than a 
match for his, with its realities. 

He was one of a family of twenty-six children; he had been 
taught to read and write when nearly grown up; had come to 
Boston as an adventurer, and had found a friend in a comely 
and sympathetic widow, who helped to educate him, and to 
whom he used to say: 

" All in good time we will come to live in the brick house 
in the Faire Green Lane." 

A Boston boy like young Franklin, among the pots and 
kettles of life, could not help recalling what this poor sailor 
lad had done for himself when he saw the brick house loom- 
ing over the bowery lane. 

The candle shop at the Blue Ball, that general place for 
story-telling by winter fires, when it was warm there and 
the winds were cold outside, often heard this story, and such 
stories as the Winthrop Silver Cup, which may still be seen; 
of lively Anne Pollard, who was the first to leap on shore 
here from the first boat load of pioneers as it came near the 
shore at the North End, when the hills were covered with 
blueberries; of old " sea dogs " and wonderful ships, like 
Sir Francis Drake and the Golden Hynde, or " Sir Francis 
and his shipload of gold," which ship returned to England one 



THE TREASURE-FINDER. 85 

day with chests of gold, but not with Sir Francis, whose body 
had been left in many fathoms of sea! Ben listened to these 
tales with wonder, with Jenny by his side, leaning- on liim. 

What was the story of Sir William Phipps, that so haunted 
the minds of Boston boys and caused their pulses to beat 
and the sea fever to rise? 

It was known in England as well as in America; it was a 
wonder tale over the sea, for it was associated with titled 
names. Uncle Ben knew it well, and told it picturesquely, 
with much moralizing. 

Let us sui)p()se it to be a cold winter's night, wlien the 
winds are abroad and the clouds lly over the moon. Josiaii 
Franklin has played his violin, the I'ainily have sung " Mar- 
tyrs "; the fire is falling down, and " people arc going to meet- 
in'," as a running of sparks among the soot Was called, when 
such a thing happened in the back of the chimney. 

Little Ben's imagination is hungry, and he asks for the 
twice-told tale of Sir William. lie would be another Sir Wil- 
liam himself some day. 

By the dying coals Uncle Ben tells the story. What a 
story it was! No wonder that it made an inexperienced boy 
want to go to sea, and especially such boys as led an unevent- 
ful life in the rope^'alk or in tlie candle shop! 

Uncle Ben iirst told the incident of Sir William's promise 
to the widow who took him to her home when he was poor, 
that she should live in the brick house; and then he pictured 
the young sailor's wonderful voyages to fulfill this promise. 
He called the sailor the " Treasure-finder." 

Let us snuggle down by the fire on this cold night in Bos- 

7 



8(5 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

ton town, beside little Ben and Jenny, and listen to the 
story. 

Uncle Ben, mayhap, shakes his snuffbox, and says: 

" That boy dreamed dreams in the daytime, but he was an 
honest man." Uncle Ben rang these words like a bell in his 
story. 

"He was an honest man; but a man in this world must 
save or be a slave, and young William's mind went sailing far 
away from the New England coast, and a-sailiug went he. What 
did he find? Wonders! Listen, and I will tell you. 

" William Phips, or Phipps, went to the Spanish Main, 
and he began to hear a very marvelous story there. The 
sailors loitering in the ports loved to tell the legend of a cer- 
tain Spanish treasure ship that had gone down in a storm, 
and they imagined themselves finding it and becoming rich. 
The legend seized upon the fancy of William the sailor and 
entered his dreams. It was only a vague fancy at first, but in 
the twilight of one burning day a cool island of palms ap- 
peared, and as it faded away a sailor who stood waching it 
said to him: 

" ' There is a sunken reef off this coast somewhere; we 
are steering for it, and I have been told that it was on that 
reef that the Spanish treasure ship went down. They say that 
ship had millions of gold on board. I wonder if anybody will 
ever find her? ' 

" William, the sailor, started. Why might not he find her? 
— William was an honest man. 

" It was early evening at sea. The shadows of night fell on 
the Bahama Islands. The sea and the heavens seemed to 



THE TREASURE-FINDER. 87 

mingle. The stars were in the water; the heavens were there. 
A stranger on the planet could not have told which was the 
sea and which was the sky. 

" The sails were limp. There was a silence around. The 
ship seemed to move through some region of space. William 
Phipps sat by himself on the deck and dreamed. Many people 
dream, but it is of no use to dream unless you do. 

" He seemed to see her again who had been the good angel 
of his life; he saw the gabled house in the bowery lane, and 
two faces looking out of the same window over Boston town. — 
William was honest. 

'' He dreamed that he himself was the captain of a ship. 
He saw himself in England, in the presence of the king. He 
is master of an expedition now, in his sea dream. He finds the 
sunken treasure ship. He is made rich by it, and he returns 
to Boston and buys the gabled house in the cool green lane 
by the sea. An honest man was Sir William. He was not 
Sir William then. 

" He returned to Boston with his dream. William stayed 
in port for a time, and then prepared for a long voyage; but 
before he went away he obtained a promise from the widow 
that if she ever married any one it should be himself. There 
was nothing wrong in that. 

" The ship owners saw that he had honor, and that they 
could trust him. He was advanced in the service, and he 
learned how to command a ship. 

" He returned and married the widow, and went forth 
again to try to reap the harvest of the sea for her, carrying 
with him his dreams. — He was an honest man. 



88 TRUE TO IIIS HOME. 

" William Pliipps, the sailor, heard more and more in re- 
gard to the sunken treasure ship, and he went to England 
and applied to the king for ships and men to go in search 
of this mine of gold in the sea. 

"Gold was then the ro3'al want, and King James's heart 
was made right glad to hear the bold adventurer's story. The 
king put at his command ships and men, and young William 
Phipps — now Commander Phipps — went to the white reef in 
the blue Bahama Sea and searched the long sea wall for treas- 
ures faithfully, but in vain. He was compelled to return to 
England as empty-handed as when he went out. 

" He heard of the great admiral, the Duke of Albemarle, 
and was introduced to him by William Penn. The duke 
heard his story, and furnished him with the means to con- 
tinue the search for the golden ship in the coral reef. 

" Ideals change into realities and will is way. Commander 
AVilliam bethought him of a new plan of gaining the needed 
intelligence. Might not some very old person know the place 
where the ship was wrecked? The thought was light. He 
found an old Indian on a near island who remembered the 
wreck, and who said he could pilot him to the very spot where 
the ship had gone down. 

" Captain William's heart was light again. With the In- 
dian on board he drifted to the rippling waters over the 
reef. 

" Below was a coral world in a sea as clear as the sky. 
Out of it flying-fish leaped, and through it dolphins swam in 
pairs, and over it sargasso drifted like cloud shadows. 

" Captain William looked down. Was it over these placid 



THE TREASURE-FINDER. 89 

waters that the storm had made wreckage many years ago? 
Was it here that the exultant Spanish sailors had felt the shock 
that turned joy into terror, and sent the ship reeling down, 
with the spoils of Indian caciques, or of Incarial temples, or 
of Andean treasures? 

" The old Indian pointed to a sunken, ribbed wall in the 
clear sea. The hearts of the sailors thrilled as they stood 
there under the fiery noonday sky. 

"Down went the divers — down! 

" Up came one presently with the news — ' The wreck is 
there; we have found it! ' 

" ' Search! ' cried Captain William, with a glad wife and a 
gable house in Boston town before his eyes. 'Down!' 

" Another diver came up bringing a bag. It looked like a 
salt bag. 

" An officer took an axe and severed the bag. The salt 
flew; the sailors threw up their hands with a cry — out of the 
bag poured a glittering stream of gold! 

" Captain William reeled. His visions were now taking 
solid forms; they had created for him a new world. 

"'Down! down!' he commanded. 

" They broke open a bag which was like a crystal sack. It 
was full of treasure, and in its folds was a goblet of gold. 

" They shouted over the treasure and held up the golden cup 
to the balmy air. It had doubtless belonged to a Spanish 
don. 

" More salt bags of gold! The deck was covered with gold! 
It is related that one of the officers of the shij) went mad at 
the sight. But Captain William did not go mad as he sur- 



90 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

veyed the work of the men in the vanishing twilight. He had 
been there in spirit before; he had expected something, and 
he was on familiar ground when he had found it. He had 
been a prophetic soul. 

" He carried home the treasure to England, and, soul of 
honor that he was, he delivered every dollar's worth of it to 
the duke. His name filled England; and his honesty was a 
national surprise, though why it should have been we can not 
say. But didn't I tell you he was an honest man? 

" The duke was made happy, and began to cast about how 
to bestow upon him a fitting reward. 

" ' What can I do for you? ' asked his Highness. 

" I have a wife in Boston town, over the sea. She is 
a good woman. Her faith in me made me all I am. She 
is the world to me, for she believed in me when no one else 
did.' 

" ' You are a fortunate man. We will send her the goblet 
of gold, and it shall be called the Albemarle Cup.' 

" The imagination of Captain William Phipps must have 
kindled and glowed as he received the ' dead don's cup,' which 
in itself was a fortune. 

" ' And to you, for your honor and honesty, shall be given 
an ample fortune, and there shall be bestowed upon you the 
honor of knighthood. You shall be able to present to your 
good wife, whose faith has been so well bestowed, the Albemarle 
Cup, in the name of the Duke of Albemarle and of Sir Wil- 
liam Phipps! ' 

" Captain AVilliam Phipps returned to Boston a baronet, 
with the Albemarle Cup. The widow that he had won was 



THE TREASURE-FINDER. 91 

Lady Phipps. New England never had a wonder tale like 
that. 

"The Albemarle Cup! The fame of it filled Boston town. 
There it stood in massive gold, in Lady Phipps's simple parlor, 
among humbler decorations. How strange it looked to her as 
she saw it! Then must have arisen before her the boy- from 
the Maine woods, one of twenty-six school-denied children; 
the ungainly young sailor with his hot temper and scars; the 
dreamer of golden dreams; the captain, the fortune-finder, 
the knight. Another link was soon added to this marvelous 
chain of events. The house of gables in the green lane was 
offered for sale. Sir William purchased it, and the Albemarle 
Cup was taken into it, amid furnishings worthy of a knight 
and lady. 

" The two looked out of the upper window over Boston 
town. — He was an honest man." 

After this many-time repeated declaration that Sir Wil- 
liam was ail honest man," he added: " A man must get a liv- 
ing somehow — he must get a living somehow; either he must 
save or be a slave." 

Little Ben thought that he would like to earn a living in 
some such way as that. The brick house in the " Faire Green 
Lane " meant much to him after stories like those. He surely 
was almost as poor as Sir William was at his age. Could he 
turn his own dreams into gold, or into that which is better 
than gold? 

" Jenny," he said, " I would like to be able to give a brick 
house in the Faire Green Lane to father and mother, and to 
you. Maybe I will some day. I will be true to my home! " 



CHAPTEE XV. 



HAVE I A CHANCE r 



Blessed is he who lends good books to young people. 
There was such a man in Boston town named Adams, one 
hundred and ninety years ago. His influence still lives, for 
he lent such books to young Benjamin Franklin. 

The boy was slowly learning what noble minds had done 
in the world; how they became immortal by leaving their 
thought and works behind them. His constant question was, 
What have I the chance or the opportunity to do? What can 
I do that will benefit others? 

It was a November evening. The days were short; the 
night came on at six o'clock. These were the dark days of the 
year. 

" There is to be a candle-light meeting in the South Church, 
and I must go," said Uncle Benjamin. " It will be pretty 
cold there to-night, Ben; you had better get the foot stove." 

The foot stove was a tin or brass box in a wooden frame 
with a handle. It was filled with live coals, and was carried to 
the church by a handle, as one would carry a dinner pail. 

Little Benjamin brought the stove out of a cupboard to 
the hearth, took out of it a pan, which he filled with hard 
coals and replaced it. » 

92 



"HAVE I A CHANCE r' 93 

" Ben," said Uncle Ben, " you had better go along with us 
and carry the stove." 

" I will go, too," said Josiah Franklin. " There is to be a 
lecture to-night on the book of Job. I always thought that 
that book is the greatest poem in all the world. Job arrived 
at a conclusion, and one that will stand. He tells us, since we 
can not know the first cause and the end, that we must be al- 
ways ignorant of the deepest things of life, but that we must 
do just right in everything; and if we do that, everything which 
happens to us will be for our best good, and the very best 
thing that could happen whether we gain or lose, have or 
want. I may be a poor man, with my tallow dips, but I have 
always been determined to do just right. It may be that I 
will be blessed in my children — who knows? and then men 
may say of me, ' There was a man! ' " 

" ' And he dwelt in the land of Uz,' " said Uncle Ben. 

" Wait for me a few minutes while I get ready," said Josiah 
Franklin. " I will have to shave." 

The prospect of a lecture in the old South Church on 
the philosophical patriarch who dwelt in the land of Uz, 
and led his flocks, and saw the planets come and go in 
their eternal march, on the open ^plains or through the 
branches of pastoral palms, was a very agreeable one to 
little Ben. 

He thought. 

" Uncle Benjamin," he said, " a man who writes a book 
like Job leaves his thoughts behind him. He does not die 
like other men; his life goes on." 

" Yes, that is. what some people call an objective life. I 



9J: TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

call it a projective life. A man who builds men, or things, for 
the use of men, lives in the things he builds. He has im- 
mortality in this world. A man who builds a house leaves 
his thought in the form of the house he builds. If he make 
a road, he lives in the road; if he invent a useful thing, he 
lives in the invention. A man may live in a ship that he has 
caused to be constructed, or his mind may see the form of a 
church, a hall, or a temple, and he may so build after what he 
sees that he makes his thoughts creative, and he lives on in 
the things that he creates after he dies. It was so with the 
builders of cities, of the Pyramids. So Eomulus — if there were 
such a man — lives in Eome, and Columbus in the lands that 
he discovered. The Pilgrim Fathers will always live in New 
England. Those who do things and make things leave behind 
them a life outside of themselves. I call such works a man's 
projected life." 

Little Ben sat swinging the foot stove. 

" He lives the longest in this world who invents the most 
useful things for others," continued Uncle Benjamin. " The 
thoughts of Copernicus, Galileo, and Newton changed the 
world. Those men can never die." 

Little Ben swung tli^ stove in his hand. 

Suddenly he looked up, and we fancy him to have said: 

"Uncle Benjamin, have I a chance?" 

Jamie the Scotchman came into the house, jingling the 
door bell as he shut the door. 

" Philosophizing? " said he. 

" Little Ben here is inquiring in regard to his chance of 
doing something in the world — of living so as to leave his 



"HAVE I A CHANCE ?" 95 

thoughts in creative forms behind. What do you think about 
it, Jamie ? " 

" Well, I don't know; it is a pretty hard case. Drum- 
sticks will make a noise, so any man may make himself heard 
if he will. Certain it is Ben has no gifts; at least, I have never 
discerned any. There are no Attic bees buzzing around 
him, none that I have seen, unless there be such things up 
in the attic, which would not be likely in a new house like 
this." 

Uncle Ben pitied the little boy, whose feelings he saw were 
hurt. 

" Jamie, I have read much, and have made some observa- 
tion, and life tells me that character, industry, and a deter- 
mined purpose will do much for a man that has no special 
gifts. The Scriptures do not say that a man of gifts shall 
stand before kings, but that the man ' diligent in his busi- 
ness ' shall do so. Ben here can rise with the best of the 
world, and if he has thoughts, he can project them. It is 
thinking that makes men work. lie thinks. — Ben, you can 
do anything that any one else of your opportunities has ever 
done. There — I hate to see the boy discouraged." 

" The fifteenth child among seventeen children would not 
seem likely to have a very broad outlook," said Jamie, " but 
it is good to encourage him; it is good to encourage 
anybody. He is one of the human family, like all the rest 
of us. — Are you going to the lecture? I will go along with 
you." 

Josiah Franklin was now ready to go, and the party started. 
Josiah carried a lantern, and little Benjamin the foot stove 



96 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

with the coals. As they walked along they met other people 
with lanterns and foot stoves. 

Uncle Benjamin felt hurt at what Jamie had said, so he 
proceeded to encourage the hoy as they went along. 

" If you could invent a stove that would warm the 
whole church, you would have a projected life, for example," 
said he. 

"Have I a chance?" asked again the future inventor of 
the Franklin stove. 

" Or if you could print something original that might live; 
or found a society to study science — something might come 
out of that; or could make some scheme for a better govern- 
ment of the people in these parts; but that would be too great 
for you. There I go! " 

Uncle Benjamin stumbled. Little Ben helped him up. 

They came to the South Church, where many lanterns, 
foot stoves, and tallow dips were gathered, and shadowy forms 
were moving to and fro. 

Little Ben set down the stove in the pew. The lecture 
began. He heard the minister read the sublime passage of the 
ancient poem beginning, " Then the Lord answered Job out of 
the whirlwind, and said." He heard about the " morning 
stars singing together," the " sweet influences of Pleiades," 
and the question, " Canst thou bind the sea? " 

The boy asked, " Have I a chance ? have I a chance ? " 
The discouraging words of Jamie the Scotchman hung over 
his mind like a cloud. 

The influence of the coals led Josiah Franklin to slumber- 
land after his hard day's work. Little Ben saw his father 



"HAVE I A CHANCE r' 97 

nod and nod. But Uncle Benjamin was in the Orient with the 
minister, having a hard experience for the good of life with 
the patriarch Job. 

"Have I a chance?" The boy shed tears. If he had 
not gifts, he knew that he had personality, but there was some- 
thing stirring within him that led his thoughts to seek the 
good of others. 

The nine-o'clock bell rang. The lecture was over. 

" Good — wasn't it ? " said Jamie the Scotchman as they 
went out of the church and looked down to the harbor glim- 
mering under the moon and stars, and added: 

" Ben, you will be sure to have one thing to spur you on 
to lead that ' projected life ' your Uncle Benjamin tells about." 

"What is that, sir?" 

" A hard time, like Job — a mighty hard time." 

" The true way to knowledge," said Uncle Benjamin en- 
couragingly. 

Uncle Benjamin felt a hand in his great mitten. It was 
little Ben's. The confidence touched his heart. 

" Ben, you are as likely to have a projected life as anybody. 
A man rises by overcoming his defects. Strength comes in 
that way." 

Little Ben went through the jingling door with a heart 
now heavy, now light. He set down the lantern, and climbed 
up to his bed under the roof. 

He was soon in bed, the question, " Have I a chance ? " 
still haunting him. 

In summer there would be the sound of the wings of the 
swallows or purple swifts in the chimney at night as they be- 



98 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

came displaced from their nests. He would start up to listen 
lo tlie whirring wings, then sink into slumber, to awake a 
blithe, light-hearted boy again. 

All was silent now. He could not sleep. His fancy was 
too wide awake. Was Uncle Benjamin right, or Jamie the 
Scotchman? Had he a chance? 



CHAPTEE XVI. 



" A BOOK THAT INFLUENCED THE CHAKACTER OF A MAN 

WHO LED HIS AGE." 



" You must read good books/' said Benjamin Franklin's 
godfather. " How sorry I am that I had to sell my pam- 
phlets! " 

Books have stamped their character on young men at the 
susceptible age and the turning points of life. But their in- 
fluence for good or evil comes to receptive characters. " He 
is a genius," says Emerson, " who gives me back my own 
thoughts." The gospel says, " He that hath ears to hear, let 
him hoar." 

Abraham Lincoln would walk twenty miles to borrow a 
law book, and would sit down on a log by the wayside to study 
it on his return from such a journey. Horace Greeley says 
that when ho was a l)oy he would go reading to a woodpile. 
" I would take a pine knot," he said, " put it on the back log, 
pile my books around me, and lie down and read all through 
the long winter evenings." He read the kind of books for 
which his soul hungered. He read to find in books what he 
himself wished to be. A true artist sees and hears only what 
he wishes to see and hear. An active, earnest, resolute soul 
reads only that which helps him fulfill the haunting purpose 
of his life. Almost every great man's books that were his eom- 

99 



100 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

panions in early years were pictures of what he most wished 
to be and to do. 

How many men have had their spiritual life quickened by 
a hymn! How many by a single poem! Homer and Ossian 
filled the imagination of Napoleon. Plutarch's Lives has 
helped form the characters of a thousand heroes, and Emerson 
placed Plutarch next to the Bible in the rank of beneficent in- 
fluences. We would say to every boy, Eead Plutarch; read the 

« 

best books first. 

A few books well read would be an education. Let a boy 
read the Bible, Josephus, Plutarch's Lives, EawHnson's, Hal- 
lam's, Macaulay's, Bancroft's, and Prescott's histories, Shakes- 
peare, Tennyson, and Longfellow, and he would have a basis 
of knowledge of such substantial worth and moral and literary 
standard as to cause his intelligence to be respected every- 
where and to become a power. Yet all these books could 
be purchased for twenty-five dollars, and the time that many 
waste in unprofitable reading for three years would be suffi- 
cient to master them. 

" I am a part of all that I have met," says Tennyson, and 
a man becomes a part of all the books that color his mind and 
character. Ask a company of people what books they most 
sought in childhood, and you may have a mental photograph 
of each. 

Benjamin Franklin says that his opinions and character 
were so greatly influenced by his reading Cotton Mather's 
Essays to do Uood, that he owed to that book his rise in life. 
A boy, he says, should read that book with pen and note-book 
in hand. 



"A MAN WHO LED HIS AGE." IQl 

Benjamin Franklin declared that it was in this book that 
he found the statements of the purposes in life that met his 
own views. " To do good," he said, was the true aim of exist- 
ence, and the resolution became fixed in his soul to seek to 
make his life as beneficent as possible to all men. How to help 
somebody and to improve something became the dreams of 
his days and nights. " A high aim is curative," says Emerson. 
Franklin had some evil tendencies of nature and habit, but 
his purpose to live for the welfare of everybody and every- 
thing overcame them all in the end, and made him honestly 
confess his faults and try to make amends for his lapses. To 
do good was an impelling purpose that led him to the build- 
ing of the little wharf, where boys might have firm footing 
whence to sail their boats, and it continued through many 
wiser experiences up to the magic bottle, in which was stored 
the revelation of that agent of the earth and skies that would 
prove the most beneficent of all new discoveries. 

The book confirmed all that Uncle Benjamin had said. 
In it he saw what he should struggle to be: he put his resolu- 
tion into this vision, and so took the first step on the ladder of 
life which was to give him a large view of human affairs. 

He turned from the candle molds to Cotton Mather's strongr 
pages, which few boys would care to read now, and from 
them, a little later, to Addison, and from both to talk with 
Jenny about what he would like to do and to become, and, 
like William Phips to the widow, he promised Jenny that 
they, too, should one day live in some " Faire Green Lane in 
Boston town." He would be true to his home — he and Jenny. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

BENJAMIN LOOKS FOR A PLACE WHEREIN TO START IN LIFE. 

Besides his instruction from encouraging Jilr. Brownell 
and his Uncle Benjamin, little Benjamin Franklin had spent 
one year at school and several years of self-instruction under 
helps. His father needed him in the candle shop, and he could 
not give him a larger education with so many mouths to feed. 

Young Ben did not like his occupation in the candle shop. 
He worked with his hands while his heart was absent, and his 
imagination was even farther away. 

He had a brother John who had helped his father when 
a hoy, who married and moved to Rhode Island to follow there 
his father's trade as a candle and soap maker. John's removal 
doubled the usefulness of little Ben among the candle molds 
and soap kettles. He saw how this kind of work would in- 
crease as he grew older; he longed for a different occupation, 
something that would satisfy his mental faculties and give 
him intellectual opportunities, and his dreams went sailing to 
the seas and lands where his brother Josiah had been. There 
were palms in his fancy, gayly plumed birds, tropical waters, 
and a free life under vertical suns — India, the Spanish Main, 
the ports of the Mediterranean. He talked so much of going 

103 



BENJAMIN LOOKS FOR A PLACE. 103 

to sea that his father saw that his shop was not the place for 
this large-hrained boy with an inventive faculty. 

" Ben," said Josiah Franklin one day, " this is no place for 
you — you are not balanced like other boys; your head is 
canted the otlier way. You'll be running off to sea some day, 
just as Josiah did. Come, let us go out into the town, and I 
will try to find another place for you. You will have to be- 
come an apprentice boy." 

" Anything, father, but this dull work. I seem here to 
be giving all my time to nothing. Soap and candles are good 
and useful things, but people can make them who can do 
nothing else. I want a place that will give me a chance to 
work with my head. What is my head for? " 

" I don't know, Ben; it will take time to answer that. 
You do seem to have good faculties, if you are my son. I 
would be glad to have you do the very best that you are capa- 
ble of doing, and Heaven knows that I would give you an 
education if I were able. Come, let us go." 

They went out into the streets of Boston town. The 
place then contained something more than two thousand 
houses, most of them built of timber and covered with cedar 
shingles; a few of them were stately edifices of brick and tiles. 
It had seven churches, and they were near the sign of the 
Blue Ball: King's Chapel, Brattle Street, the Old Quaker, the 
New North, the New South, the New Brick, and Christ 
Church. There was a free writing school on Cornhill, a school 
at the South End, and another writing school on Love Lane. 
Ben Franklin could not enter these simple school doors for 
the want of means. To gain the Franklin Medal, provided 



104 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

by legacy of Benjamin Franklin, is now the high ambition of 
every Boston Latin schoolboy. There were fortifications on 
Fort Hill and a powder house on the Common. There were 
inns, taverns, and ordinaries everywhere. Boston was a town 
of inns with queer names; Long Wharf was the seaway to the 
ships. Chatham Street now was then a fair green lane; Salem 
Street was a place of property people or people of " quality." 

In King's Chapel was a state pew for the royal Governors. 
On the pulpit stood an hourglass in a frame of brass. The 
pillars were hung with escutcheons of the king. 

Ben may have passed the old Latin School which at first 
was established at a place just cast of King's Chapel. If so, 
he must have wished to be entered there as a pupil again. The 
school has distributed his medals now for several generations. 
He may have passed the old inns like the Blue Anchor Tavern, 
or the Eoyal Exchange, or the fire of 1711 may have wiped 
out some of these old historic buildings^ and new ones to take 
their places may have been rising or have been but recently 
completed. The old Corner Bookstore was there, for it was 
built directly after the fire of 1711. It is the oldest brick 
building now standing in the city, and one of the few on which 
little Ben's eyes could have rested. A new town arose after 
the fire. 

Josiah Franklin and little Ben visited the workshops of 
carpenters, turners, glaziers, and others, but, although they had 
a good time together in the study, the kind father could not 
find a place that suited his son. Ben did not like to be appren- 
ticed to any of the tradesmen that he met. 

He had a brother James, of a bright mind but of no very 



BENJAMIN LOOKS FOR A PLACE. 105 

amiable disposition, who was a printer. He had been to London 
to improve his trade, and on his return he became the one 
printer in the town. 

One evening, between the violin and the Bible, Josiali 
Franklin suddenly said: 

" Ben, you look here! " 

" What, father? " asked the boy, starting. 

" It all comes to me what you ought to do. You should 
become a printer." 

" That I would like, father." 

" Then the way is clear — let me apprentice you to James." 

"Would he have me, father? We do not always get on 
well together. I want to learn the printer's trade; that would 
help me on to an education." 

Josiah Franklin was now a happier man. Ben would 
have no more desire to go to sea. If he could become any- 
thing out of the ordinary, the printer's trade would be the 
open way. 

He went to his son James and presented the matter. As 
a result, they drew up an indenture. 

This indenture, which may be found in Franklin's princi- 
pal biographies, was a very queer document, but follows the 
usual form of the times of George I. It was severe — a form 
by which a lad was practically sold into slavery, and yet it 
contained the demands that develop right conduct in life. Ben 
was not constituted to be an apprentice boy under these sharp 
conditions even to his own brother. But all began well. His 
mother, who worried lest he should follow the example of his 
brother Josiah, now had heart content. His father secured 



106 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

an apprentice, and probably had drawn np for him a like form 
of indenture. 

Benjamin, too, was happy now. He saw that his new way 
of life led to somewhere — where? He would do his best to 
make it lead to the best in life. He started with a high re- 
solve, which we are sorry he did not always fulfill in the letter, 
though the spirit of it never was lost. 

His successor in the tallow shop does not seem to have 
been more happy than he. His name was Tinsley. There 
appeared in the New England Courant of 1723 the following 
queer advertisement, which we copy because it affords a pic- 
ture of the times: 

Ean away from his Master, Mr. Josiah Franklin, of Boston, 
Tallow-Chandler, on the first of this instant July, an Irish 
Man-servant, named William Tinsley, about 20 Years of Age, 
of a middle Stature, black Hair, lately cut off, somewhat fresh- 
coloured Countenance, a large lower Lip, of a mean Aspect, 
large Legs, and heavy in his Going. He had on, when he went 
away, a felt Hat, a white knit Cap, striped with red and blue, 
white Shirt, and neck-cloth, a brown coloured Jacket, almost 
new, a frieze Coat, of a dark Colour, grey yarn Stockings, 
leather Breeches, trimmed with black, and round to'd Shoes. 
Whoever shall apprehend the said runaway S'ervant, and him 
safely convey to his above said Master, at the blue Ball, in 
Union street, Boston, shall have forty Shillings Reward, and 
all necessary Charges paid. 

As this advertisement was continued for three successive 
weeks, we are at liberty to conclude that William Tinsley was 
not " apprehended." 



BENJAMIN LOOKS FOR A PLACE. 107 

Let the reader be glad that he did not live in those days. 
The best of all ages is now. 

" And so you have begun life as a printer? " said Uncle 
Benjamin. '' A printer's trade is one after my own heart. 
It develops thought. If I could have only kept my pamphlets 
until now, you would have printed the notes that I made. One 
of them says that what people want is not favors or patronage 
of any kind, but justice. Eemember that, Ben. What the 
world wants is justice. You may become a printer in your 
own right some day." 

" I want to become one, uncle. That is just what is in my 
heart. I can see success in my mind." 

'' But you can do it if you will. Everything goes down 
before ' I will! ' The Alps fell before Hannibal. Have a deaf 
ear, Ben, toward all who say ' You canH ! ' Such men don't 
count with those in the march; they are stragglers. Don't 
you be laughed down by anybody. Hold your head high; 
there is just as much royal blood in your veins as there is in 
any king on earth. There is no royal blood but that which 
springs from true worth. I put that down in my documents 
years ago. 

" Life is too short to stop to quarrel with any one by the 
way. If a man calls you a fool, you need not come out under 
your own signature and deny it. Your life should do that. 
I am quoting from my pamphlets again. 

" If you meet old Mr. Calamity in your way, the kind of 
man who tells you that you have no ground of expectation, 
and that everything in the world is going to ruin, just whistle, 
and luck will come to you, my boy. I only wish that I had 



108 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

my documents — my pamphlets, I mean. I would have left them 
to you in my will. In the present state of society one must 
save or be a slave — that also I wrote down in my docu- 
ments. It is a pity that it is so, but it is. Save what you 
can while you are young, and it will give your mind leisure 
to work when you are older. That was in my pamphlets. 
I hope that I may live to see you the best printer in the 
colonies." 

The boy absorbed the spirit of these proverbial sayings. 
They were to his liking and bent of mind. But there came 
into his young face a shadow. 

" Uncle Ben, I know what you say is true. I have listened 
to you; now I would like you to hear me. You saw the boys 
going to the Latin School this morning? " 

" Yes, Ben." 

" I can not go there." 

"0 Ben! that is hard," said Jenny, who was by his side. 

" But you can go to school, Ben," said Uncle Benjamin. 

"Where, uncle?" 

" To life — and graduate there as well as any of them." 

"I would like to study Latin." 

"Well, what is to hinder you, Ben? One only needs to 
learn tlie alphabet to learn all that can be known through 
books. You know that now." 

" I Avould like to learn French. Other boys can; I can 
not." 

" The time will come when you can. The gates open before 
a purpose. You can study French later in life, and, it may be, 
make as good use of French as any of them." 



BENJAMIN LOOKS FOR A PLACE. 109 

" Why can not I do as other boys? " 
• " You can, Ben. You can so live that the Boston Latin 
School to which you can not go now will honor you some 
day." 

" I would be sorry to see another boy feel as I have felt 
when I have seen the boys going to that school with happy 
faces to learn the things that I want to know. But father 
has. done the best that he can for me." 

" Yes, Ben, he has, and you only need to do the best that 
you can for yourself to graduate at the head of all in the school 
of life. I know how to feel for you, Ben. I have stood in 
shoes like yours many times. When you have done as I have 
told you, then think of me. The world may soon forget 
me. I want you so to live that it will not as soon forget 
you." 

The cloud passed from the boy's face. Hope came to him, 
and he was merry again. He locked Jenny in his arms, whirled 
her around, and said: 

" I am glad to hear the bells ring for other boys, even if I 
must go to my trade." 

" I like the spirit of what you say," said Uncle Benjamin. 
" You have the blood of Peter Folger and of your Great-uncle 
Tom in your veins. Peter gave his heart to the needs of the 
Indians, and to toleration; your Great-vmcle Tom started the 
subscription for the bells of Nottingham, and became a magis- 
trate, and a just one. You may not be able to answer 
the bell of the Latin School, but if you are only true to the 
best that is in you, little Ben, you may make bells ring for 
joy. I can hear them now in my mind's ear. Don't laugh 



110 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

at your old uncle; you can do it, little Ben — can't he 
Jenny?" 

" He just can — I can help him. Ben can do anything — 
he may make the Latin School bell ring for others yet — like 
Uncle Tom. He is the boy to do it, and I am the sister to 
help him to do it — ain't I, Uncle Benjamin? " 



CHAPTEE XVIII, 



LITTLE ben's ADVENTURES AS A POET. 



That was a charmed life that Httle Ben Franklin led in 
the early days of his apprenticeship. He always thought of pro- 
vincial Boston as his " beloved city." When he grew old, the 
Boston of his boyhood was to him a delightful dream. 

He and his father were on excellent terms with each other. 
His father, though a very grave, pious man, whose delight 
was to go to the Old South Church with his large family, 
allowed little Ben to crack his jokes on him. 

He was accustomed to say long graces at meals, at which 
the food was not overmuch, and the hungry children many. 
One day, after he had salted down a large quantity of meat in 
a barrel, he was surprised to hear Ben ask: 

" Father, why don't you say grace over it now ? " 

" What do you mean, Ben ? " 

" Wouldn't it be saving of time to say grace now over the 
whole barrel of provisions, and then you could omit it at 
meals?" 

But the strong member of the Old South Church had no 
such ideas of religious economy as revealed his son's mathe- 
matical mind. 

The Franklin family must have presented a lively appear- 
Ill 



112 TRUE TO niS HOME. 

anee at church, in old Dr. Joseph Sewell's da5^ They heard 
some sound preaching there, and Dr. Sewell lived as he preached. 
He was offered the presidency of Harvard College, hut honors 
were as bubbles to him, and he refused it for a position of less 
money and fame, but of more direct spiritual influence, and 
better in accord with the modest views of his ability. He began 
to preach in the Old South Church when Ben was seven years 
of age; he preached a sermon there on his eightieth birthday. 

These were fine old times in Boston town. Some linen spin- 
ners came over from Londonderry, in Ireland, and they estab- 
lished a spinning school. They also brought with them the 
potato, which soon became a great luxury. 

Josiah Franklin probably pastured his cows on the Com- 
mon, and little Ben may often have sat down under the old elm 
by the frog pond and looked over the Charles River marshes, 
which were then where the Public Garden now is. 

But the delight of the boy's life was still Uncle Benjamin, 
the poet. The two read and roamed together. Now Ben had 
a poetic vein in him, a small one probably inherited from his 
grandfather Folger, and it began to be active at this time. 

There were terrible stories of pirates in the air. They 
kindled the boy's lively imagination; they represented the 
large subject of retributive justice, and he resolved to devote his 
poetic sense to one of these alarming characters. 

There was a dreadful pirate by the name of Edward Teach, 
but commonly called " Blackbeard." He was born in Bristol, 
England. He became the terror of the Atlantic coast, and had 
many adventures off the Carolinas. He was at length captured 
and executed. 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTURES AS A POET. 113 

One day little Ben came to his brother James with a paper. 

" James, I have been writing something, and I have come 
to read it to you." 

"What?" 

" Poetry." 

"Like Uncle Ben's?" 

" No; it is on Blackbeard." 

James thought that a very interesting subject, and pre- 
pared to listen to his poet brother. 

Little Ben unfolded the paper and began to read his lines, 
which were indeed heroic. 

" Come, all you jolly sailors, 

You all so stout and brave ! " 

" Good! " said James. " That starts ofC fine." 
Ben continued: 

" Come, hearken and I'll tell you 
"What happened on the wave." 

" Better yet — I like that. Why, Uncle Ben could not excel 
that. What next?" 

" Oh, 'tig of that bloody Blackbeard 

I'm going now to tell, 
And as how, by gallant Maynard, 

He soon was sent to hell. 
With a down, down, down, derry down !" 

James lifted his hands at this refrain after the old English 
ballad style. 

" Ben, I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll print the verses for 
you, and you shall sell them on the street." 

The poet Arion at his coronation at Corinth could not have 



114 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

felt prouder tlian little Ben at that hour. He would be both a 
poet and bookseller, and his brother would be his publisher. 

He may have cried on Boston street: 

" Blackboard — broadside! " or something like that. It 
would have been honorable advertising. 

His success as a poet was instantaneous. His poem sold 
well. Compliments fell upon him like a sun shower. He wrote 
another poem of like value, and it sold " prodigiously." He 
thought indeed he was a great poet, and had started out on 
Shakespeare's primrose way to fame and glory. Alas! how 
many under like circumstances have been deceived. He lived 
to call his ballads " wretched stuff." How many who thought 
they were poets have lived to take the same view of their 
work! 

His second poem was called the Light-House Tragedy. It 
related to a recent event, and set the whole town to talking, 
and the admiration for the young poet was doubled. 

In the midst of the great sale of his poems by himself, and 
of all the flatteries of the town, he went for approval to his 
father. The result was unexpected; the rain of sunshine 
changed into a winter storm indeed. 

" Father, you have heard that I have become a poet? " 

" Ha! ha! ha! " laughed Josiah, in his paper cap and leather 
breeches. " Like your Uncle Ben, my boy, and he amounted 
to nothing at all as a poet. A poet — my stars! " 

" I thought that you looked upon Uncle Ben as the best 
man in all the world. The people love him. When he enters 
the Old South Church there is silence." 

" That is all very true, my boy, but he lives between the 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTURES AS A POET. 115 

heavens and the earth, and can not get up to the one or down 
to the other. Poets are beggars, in some way or other. They 
live in garrets among the mice and bats. Their country is the 
imagination, and that is the next door to nowhere. You a 
poet! What puckers my face up — so?" 

" But my poetry sells, father," looking into his father's droll 
face, his heart sinking, 

"Your poetry! It sells, my boy, because you are a little 
shaver and appear to be smart, and also because your rhymes 
refer to events in which everybody is interested. But, my son, 
your poetry, as you call it, has no merit in itself. It is full of 
all kinds of errors. It is style that makes a poem live; yours 
has no style." 

" But, father, many people do not think so." 

" But they will. You will think so some day." 

" But isn't there something good in it ? " 

" Nothing, Ben. You never was born to be a poet. Yon 
have the ability to earn a living, same as I have done. Poets 
don't have that kind of ability; they beg. There are not many 
men who can earn a living by selling their fancies, whicb is 
mostly moonshine." 

This was unsympathetic. Ben looked at the soap kettles 
and candle molds and wondered if these things had not blinded 
his father's poetic perceptions. There was no Vale of Tempe 
here. 

But Josiah Franklin had hard common sense. Little Ben's 
dreams of poetic fame came down from the skies at one arrow. 
That was a bitter hour. 

" If I can not be a poet," he thought, " I can still be use- 



116 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

ful," and he reverted from heroic ballads to stern old Cotton 
Mather's Essays to do Good. The fated poet is always left a like 
resource. 

Yet many people who have not become poets, but who 
have risen to be eminent men, have had poetic dreams in 
early life; they have had the poetic mind. A little poetry in 
one's composition is no common gift; it is a stamp of supe- 
riority in some direction. Josiah Franklin was a wise man, but 
his views of poetry as such were of a low standard. Poetry 
is the highest expression of life, the noblest exercise of the 
spiritual faculties. 

So poor little Ben had soared to be laughed at again. But 
there was something out of the common stirring in him, and he 
would fly again some day. The victories of the vanquished are 
the brightest of all. 

Franklin, after having been thus given over to the waste 
barrel by his father, now resolved to acquire a strong, correct, 
and impressive prose style of writing. He found Addison's 
Spectator one of the best of all examples of literary style, and 
he began to make it a study. In works of the imagination he 
read De Foe and Bunyan. 

This good resolution was his second step up on the ladder 
of life. 

Others were contributing to his brother James's paper, 
why should not he? But James, after the gCing out of the 
poetic meteor, might not be willing to consider his plain prose. 

Benjamin Franklin has now written an article in plain 
prose, which he wishes to appear in his brother's paper. If 
it were accepted, he would have to put it into type himself. 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTURES AS A POET. 117 

and probably to deliver the paper to its patrons. He is sixteen 
years old. He has become a vegetarian, and lives by himself, 
and seeks pleasure chiefly in books. 

It is night. There are but few lamps in the Boston streets. 
With a manuscript hidden in his pocket Benjamin walks slyly 
tov.-ard the office of James Franklin, Printer, where all is dark 
and still. He looks around, tucks his manuscript suddenly un- 
der the office door, turns and runs. Oh, how he does glide away! 
Is he a genius or a fool? He wonders what his brother will 
say of the manuscript, when he reads it in the morning. 

In the morning he went to his work. 

Some friends of James came into the office. 

" I have found something here this morning," said James, 
" that I think is good. It was tucked under the door. It seems 
to me uncommonly good. You must read it." 

He handed it to one of his friends. 

" That is the best article I have read for a long time," said 
one of the callers. " There is force in it. It goes like a song 
that whistles. It carries you. I advise you to use it. Every- 
body would read that and like it. I wonder who wrote it ? You 
should find out. A person who can write like that should never 
be idle. He was born to write." 

James handed it to another caller. 

" There are brains in that ink. The piece flows out of life. 
Who do you think wrote it ? " 

" I have no idea," said James. — " Here, Ben, set it up. 

Here's nuts for you. If I knew who wrote it I would ask the 

writer to send in other articles." 

Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography and Charles Dickens's 
9 



118 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

novels liave had a sale equaled by a few books in the world. 
The two authors began their literary life in a like manner, by 
tucking their manuscripts under the editor's door at night and 
running away. They both came to wonder at themselves at 
finding themselves suddenly people of interest. Still, we could 
hardly say to the literary candidate, " Fling your article into 
the editor's room at night and run," though modesty, silence, 
and prudence are commendable in a beginner, and qualities 
that win. 

What pen name did Ben Franklin sign to this interesting 
article? It was one that implies his purpose in life; you may 
read his biography in it — Silence Dogood. 

The day after the name of Silence Dogood had attracted the 
attention of Boston town, Benjamin said to Jane, his sympa- 
thetic little sister: 

" Jenny, let's go to walk this evening upon Beacon Hill. 
I have something to tell you." 

They went out in the early twilight together, up the brow 
of the hill which the early settlers seem to have found a black- 
berry pasture, to the tree Avhere they had gone with Uncle 
Benjamin on the showery, shining midsummer Sunday. 

" Can you repeat what Uncle Benjamin said to us here, 
two years ago ? " asked Ben. 

" No; it was too long. You repeat it to me again and I 
will learn it." 

" Fie said, ' More than wealth, or fame, or anything, is the 
power of the human heart, and that that power is developed in 
seeking the good of others.' Jenny, what did father say when 
he read the piece by Silence Dogood in the Courant? " 



LITTLE BENS ADVENTURES AS A POET. II9 

" He clapped his hand on his leather breeches so that 
they rattled; he did, Ben, and he exclaimed, ' That is a good 
one! ' and he read the piece to mother, and she asked him who 
he supposed wrote it, and she shook her head, and he said, ' I 
wish that I knew.' " 

" Would you like to know who wrote it, Jenny? " 

" Yes. Do you know ? " 

" / wrote it. Jenny, you must not tell. I am writing an- 
other piece. James does not know. I tucked the manuscript 
under the door. I am going to put another one under the door 
at night." 

" Ben, Ben, you will be a great man yet, and I hope that 
I will live to see it. But why did you take the name of Si- 
lence Dogood " ? 

■' That carries out Uncle Ben's idea. It stands for seeking 
the good of others quietly. That name is what I would like 
to be." 

" It is what you will be, Ben. Uncle would say that the 
Franklin heart is in that name. If you should ever become a 
big man, Ben, and I should come to see you when we are old, 
I will say, ' Silence Dogood, more than wealth, more than 
fame, and more than anything else, is the power of the human 
heart.' There, I have quoted it correctly now. Maybe the day 
will come. Maybe we will live to be old, and you will write 
things that everybody will read, and I ^nll take care of father 
and mother while you go out into the world." 

" Wherever I may go, and whatever I may become or fail 
to be, my heart will always be true to you, Jenny." 

" And I will do all I can for father and mother; I will be 



120 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

3^our heart to them, so that j'ou may give your time to your 
pen. Every one in a family should seek to do for the family 
what others lack or are not able to do. You can write; I can 
not, but, Ben, I can love." 

She walked about the wild rose bushes, where the red- 
winged blackbirds were singing. 

" Ben," she continued, " I am so glad that you wrote 
that piece, and that father liked it so well! I would not have 
been more glad had you received a present from a king. Maybe 
you will receive a present from a king some day, if you write as 
well as that." 

" You will keep the secret, Jenny ? " 

" Yes, Ben, I will look for the paper to-morrow. How glad 
Uncle Ben would be if he knew it. Why, Ben, that name. 
Silence Dogood, is a piece in itself. It is a picture of your 
heart. You are just like Uncle Ben, Silence Dogood." 

The name of Silence Dogood became famous in Boston 
town. Jenny obtained Ben's permission to tell Uncle Benja- 
min the great secret, and Uncle Benjamin's heart was so de- 
lighted* that he went to his room and told the secret '' to the 
Lord." 

The three hearts were now very, very happy for a time. 
Jenny was growing up a beautiful girl, and her thoughts were 
much given to her hard-working parents and to laughed-at, 
laughing little Ben, 

When Uncle Benjamin had heard of Ben's failure as a poet 
and success as Silence Dogood, he took him down to Long 
Wharf again. 

" I am an old man," he said. " But here I have a lesson 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTUEES AS A POET. 121 

for you. If yon are conscious that you have any gift, even in 
small degree, never let the world laugh it aAvay. See ' that no 
man take thy crown/ the Scripture says. Every one who has 
contrihuted anything to the progress of the world has been 
laughed at. Stick a pin in thee, Ben. 

" iSTow, Ben, you may not have the poet's imagination or art, 
but if you have the poetical mind do not be laughed out of an 
attempt to express it. You may not become a poet; I do not 
think that you ever will. Perhaps you will write proverbs, and 
proverbs are a kind of poems. I am going to reprove Brother 
Josiah for what he has said. He has given over your education to 
me, and it is my duty to develop you after your own gifts. 

" Let us go back to the shop. I want to have a talk with 
Josiah; but, before we leave, I have a short word to say to you. 

" Hoi, Ben, hoi ! — I don't know what makes me repeat these 
words; they are not swear words, Ben, but they come to me 
when my feelings are awakened. 

" It is hard, hard for one to see what he wants to be and 
to be kept back. I wanted to be a philosopher and a poet. 
Don't you laugh, Ben. I did; I wanted to be both, and I was 
so poor tliat I was obliged to write my thoughts on the mar- 
gin of the leaves of my pamphlets, which I sold to come to 
teach you. Ben, Ben, listen: I can never be a philosopher or a 
poet, but you may. Don't laugh, Ben. Don't let any one 
laugh yoLi out of your best ideas, Ben. You may. The world 
will never read what I wrote. They may read what you will 
write, and if you follow my ideas and they are read, you will be 
content. Hoi, Ben, hoi! " 

They went to the candle shop. 



122 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Josiah, you do wrong to try to suppress Ben's gift at rhyme. 
A man without poetr}' in his soul amounts to no more than a 
chopping block. The world just hammers itself on him, and 
that is all. You would not make Ben a dunce! " 

" jSTo, brother, no; but a goose is not a nightingale, and the 
world will not stop to listen if she mounts a tree and attempts 
to sing." 

'*' No, Brother Josiah, but a goose that would like to sing like 
a nightingale would be no common goose; she would find bet- 
ter pasture than other geese. Small gifts are to be prized. ' A 
little diamond is worth a mountain of glass,' as the proverb 



says." 



" Well, if you must write poetry, don't publish it until it is 
called for." 

" \Yell, Brother Josiah, your advice will do for me, for I 
am an old man; but I must teach Ben never to be laughed 
out of any good idea that may come to him. Is not that right, 
brother? " 

" Yes, Uncle Ben. But you can't make a hen soar to the 
skies like an eagle. If you are not a poet, you have a per- 
fect character, and that is why I leave the training of Ben to 
you. If you can make a man of him, the world will be better 
for him; and if you can make something else of him besides a 
j)oet out of his poetical gift, I shall be very glad. Your poetry 
has not helped you in life, has it, Benjamin? " 

" I don't know. You think it is that that has made me a 
burden to you." 

Josiah looked his brother in the face. 

"A burden? No, brother. One of the greatest joys of my life 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTURES AS A POET. 123 

was to have you come here, and it will be the greatest blessing 
to my life if you can make the life of little Ben a blessing 
to the world. I am not much of a musician, but I like to sound 
the fiddle, and if you have any poetic light, let it shine — but 
as a tallow dip, like my fiddling. You are right, brother, in 
teaching little Ben never to be laughed down. I don't blame 
any one for crying his goods if he has anything to sell. But 
if he has not, he had better be content to warm his hands by his 
own fire." 

" Brother Josiah, listen to me. Little Ben here has some- 
thing to sell. — Hoi, Ben, hoi! you listen. — There have thoughts 
come to me that I know did not rise out of the dust. I have 
been too poor to publish them. You may laugh at me, and 
call me a poor philosopher and say that my philosophy has 
kept me poor. But Benjamin here is going to give my 
thoughts to the world, and the things that I put into my pam- 
phlets are going to live. It was not you that gave Ben to me: 
it was Heaven. A veil hangs over us in this world, and if a 
man does good in his heart, the hand behind that veil moves 
all the events of his life for good. 

"Don't laugh at us, Josiah: we are weaving together 
thoughts that will feed the world. That we are. — Hoi, Ben, 
hoi! " 

" Well, Brother, your faith makes you a happy old man. I 
hope that you will be able to make something of Ben, and that 
he may do credit to your good name. It may be so. Faith 
sees. 

" I love to see you go into the South Church, Brother. As 
soon as your face appears all the people look very happy, 



124 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

and sit still. The children all sit still. The tithingman stands 
still; he has nothing to do for a time. 

" It is something, Brother Ben, to be able to cast snch an 
influence as that — something that money can not buy. I am 
sorry if I have hurt your feelings. Heaven be praised for such 
men as you are, Brother Ben! I hope that I may live to see 
all that you see by faith. I think I may, Brother Ben. ' Men 
do not gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles,' but they do 
gather grapes of grapes and figs of figs. I hope that Ben will 
be the book of your life, and make up for the pamphlets. It 
would be a good book for men to read." 

"Hoi, Ben, hoi!" said the old man, "I can see that it 
will." 

One Sunday, after church, in summer, Uncle Ben the poet 
and Silence Dogood went down on Long Wharf to enjoy the 
breezes from the sea. Uncle Ben was glad to learn more of 
the literary successes of Silence Dogood. 

" To fail in poetry is to succeed in prose," said the fine old 
man. " But much that we call prose is poetry; rhymes are only . 
childish jingles. The greatest poetry in the world is written 
without rhyme. It is the magic spirit and the magic words that 
make true poetry. The book of Job, in my opinion, is the 
greatest poetry ever written. Poetry is not made, it exists; and 
one who is prepared to receive it catches it as it flows. Ben, 
you are going to succeed in prose. You are going to become 
a ready writer. Study Addison more and more." 

" Uncle Ben, do you not think that it is the hardest thing 
in life for one to be told that he can not do what he most wants 
to do?" 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTURES AS A POET. 125 

" Yes, Ben, that is the hardest thing in Hfe. It is a cruel 
thing to crush any one in his highest hope and expectation." 

" Was Solomon a poet? Are the Proverbs poetry? " 

" Yes, yes. The book of Proverbs is a thousand poems." 

" Then, Uncle Ben, I may be a poet yet. That kind of little 
poems come to me." 

" Ha! ha! ha! " 

A voice rang out behind them. 

It M-as Jamie the Scotchman. 

" Well, Ben, it is good to fly high. I infer that you expect 
to become a proverb poet, after the manner of Solomon. The 
people here will all be quoting you some day. It may be 
that you will be quoted in England and France. Ha! ha! ha! 
What good times," he added, "you two have together — 
dreaming! Well, it costs nothing to dream. There is no toll 
demanded of him who travels in the clouds. Move along, young 
Solomon, and let me sit down on the sea wall beside you. 
When you write a book of proverb poetry I hope I'll be living 
to read it. One don't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear — 
there's a proverb for you ! — nor gather wisdom except by experi- 
ence — there's another; and some folks do not get wisdom even 
from experience." He looked suspiciously toward Uncle 
Ben. 

" Experience keeps a dear school," said Uncle Ben in a 
kindly way. 

" And some people can learn of no other," added Silence 
Dogood. 

" And some folks not even there," said Jamie the Scotch- 
man. 



126 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

The loons came semicircling along the sea wall, their necks 
aslant, and uttering cries in a mocking tone. 

" Well, I declare, it makes the loons laugh — and no won- 
der! " said Jamie the Scotchman. He lighted his pipe, whose 
bowl was a piece of corncob, and whiffed away in silence for a 
time, holding up one knee in his clasped hands. 

Silence Dogood surveyed his surroundings, which were ship 
cargoes. 

" The empty bags do not stand up," he said. 

" Well, what do you infer from that ? " asked Jamie. 

Silence Dogood did not answer, but the thought in his 
mind was evident. It was simply this: that, come what would 
in life, he would not fail. He put his hand on Uncle Benjamin's 
shoulder, for who does not long to reach out his hand toward 
the fire in the cold, and to touch the form that entemples the 
most sympathetic heart? He dreamed there on the sea wall, 
where the loons seemed to laugh, and his dreams came true. 
Every attainment in life is first a dream. 

Silence Dogood, dream on! Add intelligence to intelligence, 
virtue to virtue, benevolence to benevolence, faith to faith, for 
so ascends the ladder of life. 

Uncle Benjamin was right. Let no man be laughed out of 
ideals that are true, because they do not reach their develop- 
ment at once. 

Many young people stand in the situation in which we find 
young Franklin now. Many older people do in their early 
work. England laughed at Boswell, but he came to be held as 
the prince of biographers, and his methods as the true manner 
of picturing life and making the past live in letters. 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTURES AS A POET. 127 

People with a purpose who have been laughed at are many 
in the history of the world. From Eomulus and the builders 
of the walls of Jerusalem to Columbus, ridicule makes a long 
record, and the world does not seem to groAv wiser by its mis- 
takes. Even Edison, in our own day, was ridiculed, when a 
youth, for his abstractions, and his efforts were ignored by 
scientists. 

Two generations ago a jeering company of people, uttering 
comical jests under the cover of their hands, went down to a 
place on the banks of the Hudson to see, as they said, " a crazy 
man attempt to move a boat by steam." They returned with 
large eyes and free lips. That boat moved. 

In the early part of the century a young Scotchman named 
Carlyle laid before the greatest of English scholars and critics 
a manuscript entitled Sartor Eesartus. The great critic read 
the manuscript and pronounced it " the stupidest stuff that he 
ever set eyes on." He laughed at a manuscript that became one 
of the literary masterpieces of the century. A like experience 
had Milton, when he once said that he would write a poem that 
should be the glory of his country. 

A young graduate named Longfellow wrote poems that 
came to him amid the woods and fields, and published them 
in newspapers and magazines, and gathered them into a book. 
The book fell into the hands of one then held to be supreme 
as a literary judge — Edgar Allen Poe. It was laughed at in ink 
that made the literary world laugh. The poet Longfellow's 
bust now holds an ideal place in Westminster Abbe}^, between 
the memorials of Dryden and Chaucer, and at the foot of the 
tombs of England's kings. 



128 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

Keats was laughed at; Wordsworth was deemed a fool. 

A number of disdainful doctors met on October 16, 1846, 
in the amphitheater of the Massachusetts General Hospital in 
Boston, to see a young medical student try to demonstrate 
that a patient upon whom a surgical operation was to be per- 
formed could be rendered insensible to pain. The sufferer 
was brought into the clear light. The young student touched 
his face with an unknown liquid whose strange odor filled the 
room. He was in oblivion. The knives cut and the blood 
flowed, and he knew it not. Pain was thus banished from the 
room of surgery. That young medical student and dentist 
was Dr. W. T. G. Morton, whose monument may be seen in 
the Boston Public Garden, and in whose honor the semicen- 
tennial of the discovery of anaesthesia has but recently been 
celebrated. 

" So, with a few romantic boys and crazy girls you expect 
to see the world converted," said a wise New York journal 
less than a century ago, as the first missionaries began to sail 
away. But the song still arose over the sea — 

" In the desert let me labor, 
On the mountain let me till" — 

until there came a missionary jubilee, whose anthems were 
repeated from land to land until they encircled the earth. 

"When Browning first published Sordello, the poem met 
with common ridicule. Even Alfred Tennyson is said to have 
remarked that " there were but two lines in it that he could 
understand, and they were both untrue." The first line of the 
poem was, " Who will, may hear Sordello's story told "; and 
the last line of the poem was, " Who would, has heard Sor- 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTUEES AS A POET. 129 

dello's story told." Yet the poem is ranked now among the 
intellectual achievements of the century in the analysis of one 
of the deeper problems of life. 

Samuel F. B. Morse was laughed at. McCormick, whose 
invention reaps the fields of the world, was ridiculed by the 
London Times, " the Thunderer." " If that crazy Wheelwright 
calls again, do not admit him," said a British consul to his 
servant, of one who wished to make new ports and a new com- 
merce for South America, and whose plans are about to harness 
the Andes with railways. William Wheelwright's memory lives 
in grateful statues now. 

Columbus was not only laughed at by the Council of Sala- 
manca, but was jeered at by the children in the streets, as he 
journeyed from town to town holding his orphan boy by the 
hand. He wandered in the visions of God and the stars, and 
he came to say, after the shouts of homage that greeted him 
as the viceroy of isles, " God made me the messenger of the 
new heavens and new earth, and told me where to find them! " 

Burton, in his Anatomy of Melancholy, presents a picture 
of the unfortunate condition of many lives of whom the world 
expected nothing, and for whom it had only the smile of in- 
credulity when in them the Godlike purpose appeared. He 
says: 

" Hannibal had but one eye; Appius Claudius and Timoleon 
were blind, as were John, King of Bohemia, and Tiresais the 
prophet. Homer was blind; yet who, saith Tully, made more 
accurate, lively, or better descriptions with both his eyes! 
Democritus was blind, yet, as Laertius writes of him, he saw 
more than all Greece besides. . . . ZEsop was crooked, Socrates 



130 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

purblind, Democritus withered, Seneca lean and harsh, ugly 
to behold; yet show me so many flourishing wits, such divine 
spirits. Horace, a little, blear-eyed, contemptible fellow, yet 
who so sententious and wise? Marcilius Ficinus, Faber Stapu- 
lensis, a couple of dwarfs; Melanchthon, a short, hard-favored 
man, yet of incomparable parts of all three; Galba the emperor 
was crook-backed; Epictetus, lame; the great Alexander a 
little man of stature; Augustus Cassar, of the same pitch; 
Agesilaus, despicabili forma, one of the most deformed princes 
that J^gypt ever had, was yet, in wisdom and knowledge, far 
beyond his predecessors." 

Why do I call your attention to these struggles in this 
place in association of an incident of a failure in life that was 
ridiculed ? 

It has been my lot, in a somewhat active life in the city of 
Boston for twenty-five years, to meet every day an inspiring 
name that all the world knows, and that stands for what right 
resolution, the overcoming of besetting sins in youth, and per- 
severing energy may accomplish against the ridicule of the 
world. There have been many books written having that 
name as a title — Fkanklin. 

I have almost daily passed the solemn, pyramidal monu- 
ment in the old Granary Burying Ground, between the Tre- 
mont Building and Park Street Church, that bears the names 
of the Franklin family, in which the parents have found 
eternal honor by the achievements of their son. 

As I pass the Boston City Hall there appears the Franklin 
statue. 

As I face the Old South Church and its ancient neighbor- 



LITTLE BEN'S ADVENTURES AS A POET. 131 

hood I am in the place of the traditions of the birth of Ben- 
jamin Frankhn and of his baptism. It may be that I will re- 
turn by the way of Franklin Street, or visit the Franklin 
School, or go to the Mechanics' Building, where I may see the 
primitive printing press at which Franklin worked, and which 
was buried in the earth at Newport, Rhode Island, at the time of 
the Eevolutionary War. 

If I go to the Public Library, I may find there two original 
portraits of Franklin and a Franklin gallery, and a picture of 
him once owned by Thomas Jefferson. 

If I go to the Memorial Hall at Harvard College, I will there 
see another portrait of the philosopher in the grand gallery 
of noble men. Or I may go to Boston's wide pleasure ground, 
the Franklin Park, by an electric car made possible by the dis- 
coveries of Franklin. 

Nearly all of Franklin's early efforts were laughed at, but 
he would not be laughed down. Time is the friend of every 
true purpose. 

Boys with a purpose, face the future, do good in silence, and 
trust. You will find some Uncle Benjamin and sister Jenny 
to hold you by the hand. Be in dead earnest, and face the 
future, and forward march! The captains of industry and the 
leaders of every achievement say, "Guide right! Turn to the 
right, and advance! " 



CHAPTER XIX. 

LEAVES BOSTOX. 

These were fine old times, but they were English times; 
English ideas ruled Boston town. There was little liberty of 
opinion or of the press in those days. The Franklins be- 
longed to a few families who hoped to find in the province free- 
dom of thought. James Franklin was a testy man, but he 
breathed free air, and one day in his paper, the Courant, he 
published the following simple sentences, the like of which any 
one might print anywhere in the civilized world to-day: " If 
Almighty God will have Canada subdued without the assistance 
of those miserable Savages, in whom we have too much confi- 
dence, we shall be glad that there will be no sacrifices offered 
up to the Devil upon the occasion; God alone will have all the 
glory." 

What had he done? He had protested against the use of 
Indians in the war then being waged against Canada. 

He was arrested on a charge that the article in which this 
paragraph appeared, and some like articles, " contained reflec- 
tions of a very high nature." He was sentenced to a month's 
imprisonment and forbidden to publish the paper. So James 
went to jail, and he left the management of the paper to Benja- 
min. 

133 



LEAVES BOSTON. 133 

This incident gives us a remarkable view of the times. But 
Boston was only following the English law and custom. 

The printing office was now carried on in Benjamin's name. 
Little Ben grew and flourished, until his popularity excited the 
envy of his brother. One day they quarreled, and James, al- 
most in the spirit of Cain, struck his bright, enterprising ap- 
prentice. Benjamin had a proud heart. He would not stand 
a blow from James without a protest. What was he to do? 

He resolved to leave the office of his brother James forever. 
He did so, and tried to secure work elsewhere. His brother's 
influence prevented him from doing this. His resentment 
against his brother grew more bitter, and blinded him to all 
besides. This was conduct unworthy of a young philosopher. 
In his resentment he does not seem to have regarded the feel- 
ings of his good father, or the heart of his mother that would 
ache and find relief in tears at night, nor even of Jenny, whom 
he loved. He took a sloop for New York, and bade good-by 
to no one. The sail dipped down the harbor, and the three 
hills of Boston faded from his view. 

He was now on the ocean, and out in the world alone. We 
are sorry to say that he faced life with such a deep resentment 
toward his brother in his heart. He afterward came to regard 
his going away in this manner as one of the mistakes of his life 
which he would wish to correct. His better heart came back 
again, true to his home. 

He was not popular in Boston in his last days there. New 

influences had come into his life. He had loved argument and 

disputation, and there is a subtile manner of discussion called 

the " Socratic method," which he had found in Xenophon, 
10 



134 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

in which one confuses an opponent by asking questions and 
never making direct assertions himself, but using the sub- 
junctive mood. It is an art of entanglement. The boy had 
delighted in " twisting people all up," and making them contra- 
dict themselves after a perversion of the manner described by 
Xenophon in his Life of Socrates. 

As religion and politics formed the principal subjects of 
these discussions, and he liked to take the unpopular view in 
order to throw his mental antagonist, he had fallen into dis- 
favor, to which disesteem his brother's charges against him 
had added. These things made Jenny's heart ache, but she 
never ceased to believe in Ben. 

Few boys ever left the city in provincial times with less 
promise of any great future, so far as public opinion is con- 
cerned. But, notwithstanding these errors of judgment, he 
still carried with him a purpose of being a benefactor, and his 
dream was to help the world. The star of this purpose ever 
shone before him in the deserts of his wanderings. 

But how was he to succeed, after thus following his own 
personal feeling in matters like these? By correcting his own 
errors as soon as he saw them, and never repeating them again. 
This he did; he openly acknowledged his faults, and tried to 
make amends for them. He who confesses his errors, and 
seeks to retrieve them, has a heart and purpose that the pub- 
lic will love. But it is a higher and nobler life not to fall into 
such errors. 

This was about the year 1723. A curious incident hap- 
pened on the voyage to New York. Young Franklin had be- 
come a vegetarian — that is, he had been convinced that it was 



LEAVES BOSTON. 135 

wrong to kill animals for food, and wrong to eat flesh of any 
kind. 

The ship became becalmed, and the sailors betook them- 
selves to fishing. Franklin loved to argue still, notwithstand- 
ing his unhappy experiences. 

" Fishing is murder," said he. " Why should these inhab- 
itants of the sea be deprived of their lives and opportunities of 
enjoyment? They have never done any one harm, and they 
live the lives for which Nature made them. Thev have the 
same right to liberty that they have to life." 

This indicated a true heart. Cut when the steward began 
to cook the fish that the sailors had caught, the frying of them 
did have a savory smell. 

Young Franklin now began to be tempted from theory by 
appetite. How could he get over his principles and share the 
meal with the sailors? The cook seized a large fish to prepare 
it for the frying-pan. As he cut off its head and opened him 
he found in him a little fish. 

" So you eat fish," said Franklin, addressing the prize; 
" then why may I not eat you ? " He did so, and from this time 
left off his vegetarian habits, which habits, like his aspiration to 
be a poet, did credit to his heart. 

His argument in this case had no force. The fish had not 
a moral nature, and because an animal or reptile without such 
a nature should eat other animals or reptiles would furnish no 
reason why a being governed by laws outside of himself should 
do the same. 

October found him in New York, a Dutch town of less than 
ten thousand inhabitants. He was about eighteen years of 



136 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

age. New York then had little in common with the city of 
to-day. Its streets were marked by gable ends and cobble 
stones. Franklin applied for work to a printer there, and the 
latter commended him to go to Philadelphia. He followed the 
advice, going by sea, friendless and forlorn, with only a few 
shillings in his pocket. 

He helped row the boat across the Delaware. He offered 
the boatman his fare. 

" No," said the boatman, " I ought to take nothing; you 
helped row." 

Franklin had just one silver dollar and a shilling in copper 
coin. He insisted that the ferryman should take the coin. He 
said of this liberal sense of honor afterward that one is " some- 
times more generous when he has little money than when he 
has plenty." 

Philadelphia, the city of Penn, now rose before him, 
and he entered it a friendless lad, whom none knew and few 
could have noticed. Would any one then have dreamed that 
he would one day become the governor of the province? 

Benjamin Franklin had now found the world indeed, and 
his brother James had lost the greatest apprentice that the 
world ever had. Both were blind. Each had needed that early 
training that develops the spiritual powers, and makes it a de- 
light to say " No "' to all the lower passions of human nature. 

Josiah and Abiah Franklin had had great hopes of little 
Ben. The boy had a large brain and a tender heart. From 
their point of view they had trained him well. They had sent 
him to the Old South Church and had made him the subject 
of their daily prayers. In fact, these good people had done their 



LEAVES BOSTON. 137 

best to make him a " steady boy," according to their light. The 
education of the inner life was like a sealed book to them. But 
they were yet people upon whom a larger light was breaking. 
The poor old soap and candle maker went on with his business 
at the Blue Ball with a heavy heart. 

" Gone, gone," said Jamie the Scotchman. " He'll find prov- 
erbs enough on his way of life. This is a hard world, but he 
has a heart to return to the right. I pity good Abiah Frank- 
lin, but we often have to trust where we can not see." 



CHAPTER XX. 

LAUGHED AT AGAIN. 

Feanklin's first day in Philadelpiiia is well known to the 
world. He has related it in Addisonian English, and it has 
been read almost as widely as the adventures of Eobinson Cru- 
soe or Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. 

We must give a part of the narrative here in his own lan- 
guage, for a merry girl is about to laugh at the Boston boy as 
she sees him pass, and he will cause this lovely girl to laugh 
with him many times in his rising career and in different 
spirit from that on the occasion when she first beheld him, the 
awkward and comical-looking boy wandering he knew not 
where on the street. 

Let us follow him through his own narrative until he meets 
the eyes of Deborah Read, a fair lass of eighteen. 

On his arrival at Philadelphia, he tells us, he was in his 
Avorking dress; his best clothes were to come by sea. He was 
covered with dirt; his pockets were filled with shirts and stock- 
ings. He was unacquainted with a single soul in the place, and 
knew not where to seek for a lodging. Fatigued with walking, 
rowing, and having passed the night without sleep, he was ex- 
tremely hungry, and all his money consisted of a Dutch dollar 

138 



LAUGHED AT AGAIN. 139 

and about a shilling's worth of coppers, which latter he gave 
to the boatman for his passage. 

He walked toward the top of the street, looking eagerly on 
both sides, till he came to Market Street, where he met with 
a child with a loaf of bread. Often he had made his dinner 
on dry bread. He inquired of the child where he had bought 
the bread, and went straight to the baker's shop which the lat- 
ter pointed out to him. He asked for some biscuits, expecting 
to find such as they had in Boston; but they made, it seems, 
none of that sort in Philadelphia. He then asked for a three- 
penny loaf. They made no loaves of that price. Finding him- 
self ignorant of the prices as well as of the different kinds of 
bread, he desired the baker to let him have threepenny worth 
of bread of some kind or other. The baker gave him 
three large rolls. He was surprised at receiving so much; he 
took them, however, and having no room in his pockets, he 
walked on with a roll under each arm, eating the third. In 
this manner he went through Market Street to Fourth Street, 
and passed the house of Mr. Eead, the father of his future wife. 
The girl was standing at the door, observed him, and thought 
with reason that he made a very singular and grotesque appear- 
ance, and laughed merrily. We repeat the many-times-told tale 
in nearly his own words. 

So here we find our young adventurer laughed at again. 
We can fancy the young girl standing on her father's doorsteps 
on that mellow autumn day. There comes up the street a lad 
with two rolls of bread under his arm, and eating a third roll, 
his pockets full of the simpler necessities of clothing, which must 
have made him look like a ragman; everything about him was 



140 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

queer and seemingly wrong. She may have seen that he was 
just from the boat, and a traveler, but when did ever a traveler 
look so entirely out of his senses as this one did? 

Never mind, Ben Franklin. You will one day stand in 
Versailles in the velvet robes of state, and the French king will 
give you his portrait framed in four hundred and eight dia- 
monds. 

" I then turned the corner," he continues, " and went 
through Chestnut Street, eating my roll all the way; and having 
made this round, I found myself again on Market Street Wharf, 
near the boat in which I arrived. I stepped into it to take a 
draught of river water, and finding myself satisfied with my 
first roll, I gave the other two to a woman and her child who 
had come down the river with us in the boat and was waiting 
to continue her journey. Thus refreshed, I regained the 
street, which was now full of well-dressed people, all going the 
same way. I joined them, and was thus led to a large Quakers' 
meeting-house near the market-place. I sat down with the 
rest, and, after looking round me for some time, hearing noth- 
ing said, and being drowsy from my last night's labor and want 
of rest, I fell into a sound sleep. In this state I continued 
till the assembly dispersed, when one of the congregation had 
the goodness to wake me. This was consequently the first 
house I entered or in which I slept at Philadelphia. 

" I began again to walk along the streets by the riverside, and, 
looking attentively in the face of every one I met with, I at 
length perceived a young Quaker whose countenance pleased 
me. I accosted him, and begged him to inform me where a 
stranger might find a lodging. "We were then near the sign of 



LAUGHED AT AGAIN. 141 

the Three Mariners. ' They receive travelers here,' said he, 
' but it is not a house that bears a good characfer. If you will 
go with me I will show you a better one.' He conducted me to 
the Crooked Billet, in Water Street. There I ordered some- 
thing for dinner, and during my meal a number of curious 
questions were put to me, my youth and appearance exciting 
the suspicion of my being a young runaway. After dinner 
my drowsiness returned, and I threw myself upon a bed with- 
out taking off my clothes, and slept till six o'clock in the 
evening, when I was called to supper. I afterward went to 
bed at a very early hour, and did not awake till the next 
morning. 

"As soon as I got up I put myself in as decent a trim as I 
could, and went to the house of Andrew Bradford, the printer. 
I found his father in the shop, whom I had seen at New York. 
Having traveled on horseback, he had arrived at Philadelphia 
before me. He introduced me to his son, who received me 
with civility and gave me some breakfast, but told me he had 
no occasion at present for a journe3^man, having lately pro- 
cured one. He added that there was another printer newly 
settled in the town, of the name of Keimer, who might per- 
haps employ me, and that in case of refusal I should be wel- 
come to lodge at his house. He would give me a little work now 
and then till something better should be found. 

" The old man offered to introduce me to the new printer. 
When we were at his house, ' Neighbor,' said he, ' I bring you 
a young man m the printing business; perhaps you may have 
need of his services.' 

" Keimer asked me some questions, put a composing stick 



1-1:2 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

in my hand to see how I could work, and then said that at 
present he had nothing for me to do, but that he should soon 
be able to employ me. At the same time taking old Brad- 
ford for an inhabitant of the town well disposed toward liim, 
he communicated his project to him and the prospect he had of 
success. Bradford was careful not to discover that he was the 
father of the other printer; and from what Keimer had said, 
that he hoped shortly to be in possession of the greater part 
of the business of the town, led him, by artful questions and 
by starting some difficulties, to disclose all his views, what his 
hojjes were founded upon, and how he intended to proceed. I 
was present and heard it all. I instantly saw that one of the 
two was a cunning old fox and the other a perfect novice. 
Bradford left me with Keimer, who was strangely surprised 
when I informed him who the old man was. 

" I found Keimer's printing materials to consist of an old, 
damaged press and a small font of worn-out English letters, 
with which he himself was at work upon an elegy upon 
Aquilla Eose, an ingenious young man and of excellent 
character, highly esteemed in the town. Secretary to the 
Assembly and a very tolerable poet. Keimer also made 
verses, but they were indifferent ones. He could not be 
said to write in verse, for his method was to set the lines as they 
followed from his muse; and as he worked without copy, had 
but one set of letter cases, and as the elegy would occupy all his 
types, it was impossible for any one to assist him. I endeav- 
ered to put his press in order, which he had not yet used, and 
of which indeed he understood nothing; and, having promised 
to come and work off his elegy as soon as it should be ready, 



LAUGHED AT AGAIN. 143 

I returned to the house of Bradford, who gave me some 
trifles to do for the present, for which I had my board and 
lodging. 

" In a few days Keimer sent for me to print off his elegy. 
He had now procured another set of letter cases, and had a 
pamphlet to reprint, upon which he set me to work. 

" The two Philadelphia printers appeared destitute of every 
qualification necessary in their profession. Bradford had not 
been brought up to it, and was very illiterate. Keimer, though 
he understood a little of the business, was merely a compositor, 
and whollyJncapable of working at press. He had been one of 
the French prophets, and knew how to imitate their super- 
natural agitations. At the time of our first acquaintance he 
professed no particular religion, but a little of all upon occasion. 
He was totally ignorant of the world, and a great knave at 
heart, as I had afterward an opportunity of experiencing. 

" Keimer could not endure that, working with him, I 
should lodge at Bradford's. He had indeed a house, but it 
was unfurnished, so that he could not take me in. He pro- 
cured me a lodging at Mr. Eead's, his landlord, whom I have 
already mentioned. My trunk and effects being now arrived, 
I thought of making, in the eyes of Miss Eead, a more re- 
spectable appearance than when chance exhibited me to her 
view, eating my roll and wandering in the streets. 

" From this period I began to contract acquaintance with 
such young people as were fond of reading, and spent my even- 
ings with them agreeably, while at the same time I gained 
money by my industry, and, thanks to my frugality, lived con- 
tentedly. I thus forgot Boston as much as possible, and wished 



144 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

every one to be ignorant of the place of my residence, 'ex- 
cept my friend Collins, to whom I wrote, and who kept my 
secret. 

" An accident, however, happened which sent me home much 
sooner than I proposed. I had a brother-in-law, of the name 
of Eobert Holmes, master of a trading sloop from Boston to 
Delaware. Being at Newcastle, forty miles below Philadel- 
phia, he heard of me, and wrote to inform me of the chagrin 
which my sudden departure from Boston had occasioned my 
parents, and of the affection which they still entertained for 
me, assuring me that, if I would return, everything should be 
adjusted to my satisfaction; and he was ver}^ pressing in his 
entreaties. I answered his letter, thanked him for his advice, 
and explained the reasons which had induced me to quit Bos- 
ton with such force and clearness that he was convinced I had 
been less to blame than he had imagined. 

" Sir William Keith, Governor of the province, was at New- 
castle at the time. Captain Holmes, being by chance in his 
company when he received my letter, took occasion to speak 
of me and showed it to him. The Governor read it, and ap- 
peared surprised when he learned of my age. He thought me, 
he said, a young man of very promising talents, and that of 
consequence I ought to be encouraged; that there were at Phil- 
adelphia none but very ignorant printers, and that if I were to 
set up for myself he had no doubt of my success; that, for his 
own part, he would procure me all the public business, and 
would render me every other service in his power. My 
brother-in-law related all this to me afterward at Boston, but I 
knew nothing of it at the time. When, one day, Keimer and I 



LAUGHED AT AGAIN. I45 

being at work together near the window, we saw the Governor 
and another gentleman, Colonel French, of Newcastle, hand- 
somely dressed, cross the street and make directly for our house. 
We heard them at the door, and Keimer, believing it to be a visit 
to himself, went immediately down; but the Governor inquired 
for me, came upstairs, and, with a condescension and polite- 
ness to which I had not at all been accustomed, paid me many 
compliments, desired to be acquainted with me, obligingly re- 
proached me for not having made myself known to him on my 
arrival in the town, and wished me to accompany him to a tav- 
ern, where he and Colonel French were going to have some ex- 
cellent Madeira wine. 

" I was, I confess, somewhat surprised, and Keimer appeared 
thunderstruck. I went, however, with the Governor and the 
colonel to a tavern at the corner of Third Street, where he pro- 
posed to me to establish a printing house. He set forth the 
probabilities of success, and himself and Colonel French assured 
me that I should have their protection and influence in obtain- 
ing the printing of the public papers of both governments; and 
as I appeared to doubt whether my father would assist me in 
this enterprise. Sir William said that he would give me a letter 
to him, in which he would represent the advantages of the 
scheme in a light which he had no doubt would determine 
him. It was thus concluded that I should return to Bos- 
ton by the first vessel with the letter of recommendation 
from the Governor to my father. Meanwhile the project 
was to be kept secret, and I continued to work for Keimer 
as before. 

" The Governor sent every now and then to invite me to 



146 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

dine with him. I considered this a very great honor, and I 
was the more sensible of it as he conversed with me in the most 
affable, familiar, and friendly manner imaginable. 

" Toward the end of April, 1724, a small vessel was ready 
to sail for Boston. I took leave of Keimer upon the pretext of 
going to see my parents. The Governor gave me a long letter, 
in which he said many flattering things of me to my father, 
and strongly recommended the project of my settling at 
Philadelphia as a thing which could not fail to make my 
fortune." 

What is there prophetic of a great life in this homely nar- 
rative? Eead over again the incident of the three rolls, one of 
which he ate, and two of which he gave to the poor woman 
and her child who needed them more than he. All his money on 
that day was one silver dollar. In that incident we see the 
heart and the persistent purpose to do good. He had made 
mistakes, but the resolution that he had made on reading 
Cotton Mather's meaty book was unshaken. He would correct 
his errors and yield to his better nature, and this purpose to 
help others would grow, and so he would overcome evil with 
good. 

He who helps one helps two. The poor woman may 
never have been heard of in public, except in this story, but 
that act of sharing the rolls, with one for the little child, 
made Ben Franklin a larger man. " The purpose of life is 
to grow." 

Benjamin Franklin is now a seed in the wind, but he is a 
good seed in the wind — good at heart, with a right pur- 
pose. The stream of life is turned aside, but it will flow 



LAUGHED AT AGAIN. 147 

true again toward the great ocean of that which is broadest 
and best. 

For this little Jenny at home is hoping, and Abiah Frank- 
lin praying, and Josiah Franklin keeping silence in regard to 
his family affairs. 

These were hard days for Uncle Benjamin and his philos- 
ophy, and for Jenny and her human faith. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

LONDON AND A LONG SWIM. 

What kind of a man was Governor Sir William Keith? 
There are not many such, but one such may be found in almost 
every large community. He desired popularity, and he loved 
to please every one. He was constantly promising what he was 
not able to fulfill. He had a lively imagination, and he liked 
to think what he would do if he could for every bright person 
he met; and these things which he would like to do he prom- 
ised, and his promises often ended in disapponitment. It de- 
lighted him to see faces light up with hope. Did he intend to 
deceive? No. He had a heart to bless the whole world. He 
was for a time a very popular Governor, but he who had given 
away expectations that but disappointed so many hearts was 
at last disappointed in all his expectations. He was greatly 
pleased with young Benjamin Franklin when he first met him, 
just as he had been with many other promising young men. 
He liked a young man who had the hope of the future in his 
face. This young printer who had entertained Boston under 
the name of Silence Dogood won his heart on a further ac- 
quaintance, and so he used to invite him to his home. He there 
showed him how essential a good printer would be to the prov- 
ince; how such a young man as he would make a fortune; 

148 



LONDON AND A LONG SWIM. 149 

and he urged him to go back to his father in Boston and bor- 
row money for such an enterprise. He gave him a long letter 
of commendation to his father, a droll missive indeed to carry 
to clear-sighted, long-headed Josiah Franklin. 

With this grand letter and twenty-five pounds in silver in 
his pocket and a gold watch besides, and his vision full of 
rainbows, he returned to the Puritan town. He went to the 
printing office, which was again under the charge of his brother 
James. He was finely dressed, and as he had come back with 
such flattering prospects he had a grain of vanity. 

He entered James's office. The latter looked at him with 
wide eyes, then turned from him coldly. 

But Silence Dogood was not to be chilled. The printers 
flocked around him with wonder, as though he had been a return- 
ing Sindbad, and he began to relate to them his adventures in 
Philadelphia. James heard him with envy, doubtful of the land 
" where rocs flew away with elephants." But when Benjamin 
showed the men his watch, and finally shared with them a sil- 
ver dollar in hospitalities, he fancied that his brother had come 
there to insult him, and he felt more bitterly toward him than 
ever before. Benjamin had much to learn in life. He and his 
brother, notwithstanding their good Quaker-born mother, had 
not learned the secret of the harmony of Abraham and Lot. 

But one of these lessons of life our elated printer was to 
learn, and at once. 

He returned to his home at the Blue Ball. His parents had 
not heard from him since he went away some seven months be- 
fore, and they, though grieved at his conduct, received him joy- 
fully. There was always an open door in Abiah Folger's heart. 
11 



150 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

The Quaker blood of good Peter Folger never ceased to course 
warm in her veins. 

Ben told his marvelous story. After the literary adventures 
of Silence Dogood in Boston, his parents could believe much, 
but when he came to tell of his intimacy with Sir William 
Keith, Governor of the Province of Pennsylvania, successor to 
the great William Penn, they knew not what to think. Either 
Sir William must be a singular man, or they must have under- 
rated the ability of young Silence Dogood. 

" This is great news indeed. But what proof do you bring 
of your good fortune, my son? " asked the level-headed Josiah, 
lifting his spectacles upon his forehead and giving his son a 
searching look. 

Young Benjamin took from his pocket the letter of Sir 
William and laid it before his father. It indeed had the vice- 
royal seal of the province. 

His father put down his spectacles from his forehead, and 
his wife Abiali drew up her chair beside him, and he read the 
letter to himself and then reviewed it aloud. 

The letter told him what a wonderfully promising young 
man Benjamin was; how well he was adapted to become the 
printer of the province, and how he only needed a loan where- 
with to begin business to make a fortune. 

Josiah Franklin could not doubt the genuineness of the let- 
ter. He sat thinking, drumming on a soap shelf. 

" But why, my boy, if you are so able and so much needed 
does not Governor Keith lend you the money himself?" 

Ben sat silent. Not all the arts of the .Socratic method 
could suggest any answer to this question. 



LONDON AND A LONG SWIM. 151 

"I am glad that you have an influential patron," said Jo- 
siah, " but to a man of hard sense it would seem very strange 
that he should not advance the money himself to help one so 
likely to become so useful to the province to begin business. 
People are seldom offered something for nothing in this world, 
and why this man has made himself your patron I can not see, 
even through my spectacles." 

" He wishes, father, to make me a printer for the advance- 
ment of the province." 

" Then why, my son, should not a governor of a rich prov- 
ince himself provide you with means to become a printer for the 
advancement of the province ? " 

Socrates himself could not have answered this question. 

" Did you tell him that your father was an honest, hard- 
working soap boiler and candle maker?" 

" No," said the young man. 

" Benjamin, I have a large family, and I am unable to lend 
you the money that the Governor requests. But even if I had 
the money I should hesitate to let you have it for such a pur- 
pose. You are too young to start in business, and your charac- 
ter is not settled. That troubles me, Ben. Your character 
is not settled. You have made some bad mistakes already. 
You went away without bidding your mother good-by, and 
now return to me with a letter from the Governor of 
Pennsylvania who asks me to loan you money to set you up 
in business, because you are so agreeable and promising. 
Ben, Ben, did you not think that I had more sense than 
that? " 

Josiah lifted his spectacles up to his forehead, and looked 



152 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

his finely dressed son fully in the face. The pride of the latter 
hegan to shrink. He saw himself as he was. 

But Abiah pleaded for her large-brained boy — Abiah, whose 
heart was always open, in whom lived Peter Folger still. Jenny 
had but one thing to say. It was, " Ben, don't go back, don't 
go back." 

" I will tell you what I will do," said Josiah. " I will write 
a letter to Governor Keith, telling him the plain truth of my 
circumstances. That is just right. If when you are twenty 
years of age you will have saved a part of the money to begin 
business, I will do what I can for you." 

With this letter Silence Dogood returned to Philadelphia 
in humiliation. We think it was this Silence Dogood who 
wrote the oft-quoted proverb, " A good kick out of doors is 
worth all the rich uncles in the world." 

Young Franklin presented his father's letter to Governor 
Keith. 

" Your father is too prudent," said the latter. " He says 
that you are too young and unsettled for business. Some peo- 
ple are thirty years old at eighteen. It is not years that are to 
be considered in this case, but fitness for work. I will start 
3^ou in business myself." 

Silence Dogood rejoiced. Here was a man who was 
" better than a father " — the " best man in all the world," he 
thought. 

" Make out an inventory of the things that you need to be- 
gin the business of a printer, and I will send to London for 
them." 

Benjamin did so, an inventory to the amount of one liun- 



LONDON AND A LONG SWIM. 153 

dred pounds. He brought it to the Governor, who greatly sur- 
prised him by a suggestion. 

" Perhaps," said Sir William, " you would like to go to Lon- 
don and get the machinery yourself. I would give you a letter 
of credit." 

Was it raining gold ? 

" I would like to go to London/' answered the young 
printer. 

" Then I will provide for your Journey. You shall go with 
Captain Annis." This captain sailed yearly from Philadelphia 
to London. 

Waiting the sailing of the ship months passed away. Gov- 
ernor Keith entertained the young printer at his home. The 
sailing time came. Franklin went to the office of the Gov- 
ernor to receive the letter of credit and promised letters of in- 
troduction. 

" All in good time, my boy," said the Governor's clerk, 
" but the Governor is busy and can not see you now. If you 
will call on Wednesday you will receive the letters." 

Young Franklin called at the office on the day appointed. 

" All in good time, my boy," said the clerk. " The Gov- 
ernor has not had time to fix them up and get them ready. 
They will be sent to you on board the ship with the Governor's 
mail." 

So Franklin went on board the ship. As the Governor's 
mail came on board he asked the captain to let him see the let- 
ters, but the latter told him that he must wait until the ship 
got under way. 

Out at sea the Governor's letters were shown to him. There 



154: TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

were several directed to people " in the care of Benjamin 
Franklin." He supposed these contained notes of introduction 
and the letter of credit, so he passed happily over the sea. 

He reached London December 2i, 1724. He rushed into 
the grand old city bearing the letters directed in his care. He 
took the one deemed most important to the office of the gentle- 
man to whom it was directed. " This letter is from Governor 
Keith, of the Province of Pennsylvania," said Franklin. 

" I know of no such person," said the man. The latter 
opened the letter. " Oh, I see," said he, " it is from one Eiddle- 
son. I have found him out to be a rascal, an exile, and refuse 
to entertain any communication from him." 

Franklin's face fell. His heart turned heavy. He went 
out wondering. "Was his father's advice sound, after all?" 

The rest of the letters that had been directed in his care 
were not written by Governor Keith, but by people in the prov- 
ince to their friends, of which he had been made a postboy. 
There were in the mail no letters of introduction from Gov- 
ernor Keith to any one, and no letter of credit. 

He found himself alone in London, that great wilderness 
of homes. Of Keith's conduct he thus speaks in his autobiog- 
raphy : 

'' What shall we think of a Governor playing such pitiful 
tricks, and imposing so grossly upon a poor ignorant boy? It 
was a habit he had acquired; he wished to please everybody, 
and having little to give, he gave expectations. He was other- 
wise an ingenuous, sensible man, a pretty good writer, and a 
good Governor for the people, though not for his constituents, 
the Proprietaries, whose instructions he sometimes disregarded. 



LONDON AND A LONG SWIM. I55 

Several of our best laws were of his planning, and passed dur- 
ing his administration." 

He found work as a journeyman printer in London, and we 
are sorry to say lived like most journeymen printers there. But 
Silence Dogood had to make himself useful even among 
these unsettled people. He instituted new ways of business 
and life of advantage to journeymen printers, and so kept the 
chain of his purpose lengthening. 

There was a series of curious incidents that happened dur- 
ing the last part of this year of residence in London that came 
near changing his career. It was in 1726; he was about twenty 
years old. He had always loved the water, to be on it and in 
it, and he became an expert swimmer when he was a lad in Bos- 
ton town. 

He had led a temperate life among the London apprentices, 
and had kept his physical strength unimpaired. He drank 
water while they drank beer. They laughed at him, but he 
was able to carry up stairs a heavier case of type than any of 
them. They called him the " American water-drinker," but 
there came a day when he performed a feat that became the ad- 
miration of the young London printers. He loved companion- 
ship, and had many intimate friends, and among them there 
was one Wygate, who went swimming with him, probably in 
the Thames, and whom he taught to swim in two lessons. 

One day Wygate invited him to go into the country with 
him and some of his friends. They had a merry time and re- 
turned by water. After they had embarked from Chelsea, a 
suburb which was then some four and a half miles from St. 
Paul's Cathedral, Wygate said to him: 



156 TEUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Franikliai, yoai are a water boy; let us see how well you 



can swim." 



Franklin knew his strength and skill. He took off his cloth- 
ing and leaped into the river, and probably performed all the 
old feats that one can do in the water. 

His dexterity delighted the party, but it soon won their 
applause. 

He swam a mile. 

" Come on board! " shouted they. " Are you going to swim 
back to London ? " 

" Yes," came a voice as if from a fish in the bright, sunny 
water; 

He swam two miles. 

The wonder of the party grew. 

Three mil«s. 

They cheered. 

Four miles to Blackfriars Bridge. Such a thing had never 
been known among the apprentice lads. The swim brought 
yoimg Franklin immediate fame among these apprentices, and 
it spread and filled London. 

Sir William Wyndham, once Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
heard of this exploit, and desired to see him. He had two sons 
who were about to travel, to whom he wished Franklin to teach 
swimming. But the two boys were detained in another place, 
and Franklin never met them. It was proposed to Franklin 
that he open a swimming school. 

But wliile he was favorable to such agreeable employment, 
there occurred one of those incidents that seem providential. 

He met one day at this shifting period Mr. Denham, the up- 




"Are you going to swim back to London?' 



LONDON AND A LONG SWLM. I57 

right merchant, whose integrity came to honor his profession 
and Philadelphia. This man had failed in business at Bristol, 
and had left England nnder a cloud. But he had an honest 
soul and purpose, and he resolved to pay every dollar that he 
owed. To this end he put all the energies of his life into 
his business. He went to America to make a fortune, and he 
made it. He then returned to Bristol, which he had left in 
sorrow and humiliation. 

He gave a banquet, and invited to it all the merchants and 
people whom he owed. They responded to the unexpected in- 
vitation, and wondered what would happen. When they had 
seated themselves at the table, and the time to serve the meal 
came, the dinner plates were lifted, and each one found before 
him the full amount of the money due to him. The banquet of 
honor made the name of the merchant famous. 

Mr. Denham was a friend to men in need of good influences. 
He saw Franklin's need of advice, and he said to him: 

" My young friend, you should return to Philadelphia. It 
is the place of opportunity." 

" But I have not the means." 

" I have the means for you. I am about to return to Amer- 
ica with a cargo of merchandise. You must go back with me. 
Your place in life is there." 

Should he go? 

It was early summer. He went out on London Bridge one 
night. It grew dark late. But at last there gleamed in the 
dark water the lights of London like stars. Many voices filled 
the air as the boats passed by. The nine o'clock bells rang. 
It may be that he heard the Bow bells ring, the bells that said, 



158 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Come back! come back! come back! " to young Dick Wliit- 
tington when he was running away from his place in life. If 
so, he must have been reminded of all that this man accom- 
plished by heeding the voice of the bells, and of how King 
Henry had said, after all his benefactions, " Did ever a prince 
have such a subject? " 

He must have thought of Uncle Tom and the bells of Not- 
tingham on this clear night of lovely airs and out-of-door 
merriments. Over the great city towered St. Paul's under 
the rising moon. Afar was the Abbey, with the dust of kings. 

Then he thought of Uncle Benjamin's pamphlets. It 
seemed useless for one to look for books in this great city of 
London. 

Franklin never saw ghosts, except such as arise out of con- 
science into the eye of the mind. But the old man's form and 
his counsels now came into the view of the imagination. His 
old Boston home came back to his dreams; Jenny came back 
to him, and the face of the young woman whom he had learned 
to love in Philadelphia. 

He resolved to return. America was his land, and he must 
build with her builders. He sailed for America with his good 
adviser, the honest merchant, July 21, 1736, and left noble- 
men's sons to learn to swim in the manner that he himself had 
mastered the water. 

Did he ever see Governor Keith again? Yes. After his 
return to Philadelphia he met there upon the street 
one who was becoming a discredited man. The latter recog- 
nized him, but his face turned into confusion. He did not 
bow; nor did Franklin. It was Governor Keith. This Gov- 



LONDON AND A LONG SWIM. 159 

ernor Please-Everybody died in London after years of poverty, 
at the age of eighty. 

Silence Dogood may have thought of his father's raised 
spectacles when he met Sir William that day on the street, and 
when they did not wish to recognize each other, or of Jenny's 
words, " Ben, don't go back." 

He had learned some hard lessons from the book of life, 
and he would henceforth be true to the most unselfish coun- 
sels on earth — the heart and voice of home. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

A PENNY BOLL WITH HONOK. — JENNY'S SPINNING-WHEEL. 

Benjamin became a printer again. By the influence of 
friends he opened in Philadelphia an office in part his own. 

Benjamin Franklin had no Froebel education. The great 
apostle of the education of the spiritual faculties had not yet 
appeared, and even Pestalozzi, the founder of common schools 
for character education, could not have been known to him. 
But when a boy he had grasped the idea that was to be evolved 
by these two philosophers, that the end of education is charac- 
ter, and that right habits become fixed or automatic, thus virtue 
must be added to virtue, intelligence to intelligence, benevo- 
lence to benevolence, faith to faith. 

One day, when he was very poor, there came into his print- 
ing office a bustling man. 

" See here, my boy, I have a piece for you; there's ginger 
in it, and it will make a stir. You will get well paid for giv- 
ing it to the public; all Philadelphia will read it." 

" I am glad to get something to give the paper life," 
said Franklin. " I will read the article as soon as I have time 
to spare." 

" I will call to-morrow," said the man. " It is running water 
that makes things grow. That article will prove very interesting 

160 



A PENNY ROLL WITH HONOR. 161 

reading to many people, and it will do them good. It is a 
needed rebuke. You'll say so when you read it." 

Franklin at this time did a great part of the work in the 
office himself, and he was very busy that day. At last he found 
time to take up the article. He hoped to find it one that 
would add to the circulation of the paper. He found that it 
was written in a revengeful spirit, that it was full of detrac- 
tion and ridicule, that it would answer no good purpose, that 
it would awaken animosities and engender bitter feelings and 
strife. But if used it would be read, laughed at, increase the 
sale of the paper, and secure him the reputation of publishing a 
smart paper. 

Should he publish an article whose influence would be 
harmful to the public for the sake of money and notoriety ? 

He here began in himself as an editor that process of moral 
education which tends to make fixed habits of thought, judg- 
ment, and life. He resolved 7iot to print the article. 

But the author of it would laugh at him — might call him 
puritanic; would probably say that he did not know when he 
was " well off "; that he stood in his own light; that he had not 
the courage to rebuke private evils. 

The young printer had the courage to rebuke wrong, but 
this article was a sting — a revengeful attempt to make one a 
laughing stock. It had no good motive. But it haunted him. 
He turned the question of his duty over and over in his mind. 

Night came, and he had not the money to purchase a sup- 
per or to secure a bed. Should he not print the lively article, 
and make for himself better fare on the morrow ? 

No. Manhood is more than money, worth more than 



162 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

wealth. He went to the baker's and bought a twopenny roll; 
he ate it in his office, and then lay down on the floor of his 
office and went to sleep. 

The boy's sleep was sweet. He had decided the matter in 
his own heart, and had given himself a first lesson in what we 
would to-day call the new education. In this case it was an 
editorial education. 

It was a lovely winter morning. There was joy in all Na- 
ture; the air was clear and keen; the Schuylkill rippled bright 
in the glory of the sun. He rose before the sun, and went to his 
Avork with a clear conscience, but probably dreading the anger 
of the patron when he should give him his decision. 

When the baker's shop opened he may have bought another 
twopenny roll. He certainly sat down and ate one, with a 
dipper of water. 

In the later hours of the morning the door opened, and the 
patron came in with a beaming face. 

" Have vou read it ? " 

" Yes, I have read the article, sir." 

"Won't that be a good one? What did you think of it?" 

" That I ought not to use it." 

" Why? " asked the man, greatly astonished. 

" I can not be sure that it would not do injustice to the per- 
son whom you have attacked. There are always two sides to 
a case. I myself would not like to be publicly ridiculed in 
that manner. Detraction leads to detraction, and hatred begets 
hate." 

" But you must have money, my Boston lad. Have you 
thought of that? " was the suggestion. 



A PENNY ROLL WITH HONOR. 163 

Franklin drew himself up in the strength and resolution of 
young manhood, and made the following answer, which we 
give, as we think, almost in his very words: 

" I am sorry to say, sir, that I think the article is scurrilous 
and defamatory. But I have been at a loss, on account of my 
poverty, whether to reject it or not. I therefore put it to this 
issue. At night, when my work was done, I bought a two- 
penny loaf, on which I supped heartily, and then wrapping 
myself in my greatcoat slept very soundly on the floor until 
morning, when another loaf and a mug of water afforded a 
pleasant breakfast. Now, sir, since I can live very comfortably 
in this manner, why should I prostitute my press to personal 
hatred or party passion for a more luxurious living? " 

This experience may be regarded as temporizing, but it was 
inward education in the right direction, a step that led upward. 
It shows the trend of the way, the end of which is the " path 
of the just, that leads more and more unto the perfect day." 

A young man who was willing to eat a twopenny roll and 
to sleep on the floor of his pressroom for a principle, had in 
him the power that lifts life, and that sustains it when lifted. 
He who puts self under himself for the sake of justice has in 
him the gravitation of the skies. Uncle Ben's counsels were 
beginning to live in him. Jenny's girl's faith was budding 
in his heart, and it would one day bloom. He was turning 
to the right j((Rdw, and he would advance. There are periods 
in some i^^e's lives when they do not write often to their best 
friend(^P^uch a one had just passed with Ben. During the 
Governor Keith misadventures he had not written home often, 
as the reader may well imagine. But now that he had come 



104 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

back to Philadelphia and was prosperous, the memory of 
loving Jenny began to steal back into his heart. 

He had heard that Jenny, now at sweet sixteen, was 
famous for her beauty. He may have been jealous of her, we 
do not know; but he was apprehensive that she might become 
vain, and he regarded modesty, even at his early age of twenty- 
one or twenty-two, as a thing very becoming a blooming girl. 

One day he wrote to her, " Jenny, I am going to send you 
a present by the next ship to Boston town." 

The promise filled the girl's heart with delight. Her faith 
in him had never failed, nor had her love for him changed. 

What would the present be? 

She went to her mother to help her solve this riddle. 

" Perhaps it will be a ring," she said. " I would rather 
have that from Ben than any other thing." 

" But he would not send a ring by ship," said her mother, 
" but by the post chaise." 

" True, mother; it can not be that. It may be a spinet. 
I think it is a spinet. He knows how we have delighted in 
father's violin. He might like to send me a harp, but what is 
a spinet but a harp in a box? " 

" I think it may be that, Jenny. He would send a spinet 
by ship, and he knows how much we all love music." 

" Yes, and he must see how many girls are adding the music 
of the spinet to their accomplishments." 

" Wouldn't a spinet be rather out of place in a candle 
shop? " asked the mother. 

" Not out of place in the parlor of a candle shop," said 
Jenny with dignity. 



JENNY'S SPINNING-VrHEEL. 165 

" Do you think that you could learn to play the spinet, 
Jenny? " 

" I would, if Ben were to send me one. I have been true 
to Ben all along. I have never given him up. He may get 
out of place in life, but he is sure to get back again. A true 
heart always does. I am sure that it is a spinet that he will 
send. I dreamed," she added, " that I heard a humming sound 
in the air something like a harp. I dreamed it in the morning, 
and morning dreams come true." 

" A humming sound," said Josiah Franklin, who had come 
within hearing; " there are some things besides spinets that 
make humming sounds, and Ben must know how poor we are. 
I am glad that his heart is turning home again, after his 
scattering adventures with the Governor. It is not every 
one who goes to sea without a rudder that gets back to port 
again." 

Jenny dreamed daily of the coming ship and present. The 
ship came in, and one evening at dark an old sailor knocked at 
the door. He presently came in and announced that they had a 
" boxed-up " thing for one Jane Franklin on board the ship. 
Should he send it by the cartman to the house? 

" Yes, yes! " cried Jenny. " Now I know it is a spinet I 
heard humming — I told you about it, mother." 

The girl awaited the arrival of the gift .with a flushed cheek 
and a beating heart. It came at last, and was brought in by 
candlelight. 

It was indeed a " boxed-up " thing. 

The family gathered around it — the father and mother, the 

boys and the girls. 
12 



166 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

Josiah Franklin broke open the box with his great claw 
hammer, which might have pleased an Ajax. 

" Jenny! " he exclaimed, " that will make a humming 
indeed. Ben has not lost his wits yet — or he has found them 
again." 

" What is it? What is it, father? " 

" The most sensible thing in all the world. See there, it 
is a spinning-wheel! " 

Jane's heart sank within her. Her dreams vanished into 
the air — the delights of the return of Sindbad the Sailor were 
not to be hers yet. The boys giggled. She covered her face 
with her hands to hide her confusion and to gain heart. 

" I don't care," she said at last, choking. " I think Ben is 
real good, and I will forgive him. I can spin. The wheel is 
a beauty." 

The gift was accompanied by a letter. In it Benjamin told 
her that he had heard that she had been much praised for her 
beauty, but that it was industry and modesty that most mer- 
ited commendation in a young girl. The counsel was as homely 
as much of that that Uncle Benjamin used to give little Benja- 
min, but she choked down her feelings. 

" Benjamin was thinking of you as well as of me when he 
sent me that present," she said to her mother. " I will make 
music with the wheel, and the humming will make us all 
happy. I think that Ben is real good — and a spinet would have 
been out of place here. I will write him a beautiful letter in 
return, and will not tell him how I had hoped for a spinet. It 
is all better as it is. That is best which will do the most 
good." 



JENNY'S SPINNING-WHEEL. 167 

If Franklin sent a practical spinning-wheel to Jenny when 
she was a girl, with much advice in which there was no poetry, 
such a sense of homely duties soon passed away. He came to 
send her beautiful presents of fabrics, " black and purple 
gowns," wearing apparel of elegant texture, and ribbons. 
When he became rich it was his delight to make happy the 
home of Jane Mecom — his poetic, true-hearted sister " Jenny," 
whose heart had beat to his in every step of his advancing life. 

She became the mother of a large family of children, and 
when one of them ran away and went to sea she took all the 
blame of it to herself, and thought that if she had made his 
home pleasanter for him he would not have left it. In her 
self-blame she wrote to her brother to confess how she had failed 
in her duty toward the boy. Franklin read her heart, and wrote 
to her that the boy was wholly to blame, which could hardly 
have been comforting. Jenny would rather have been to blame 
herself. There was but little wrong in this world in her eyes, 
except herself. 

She saw the world through her own heart. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

MR. CALAMITY. 

Theee was a fine, busy old gentleman that young Franklin 
met about the time that he opened his printing otfice, whose 
course it will be interesting to follow. Almost every young 
man sometimes meets a man of this type and character. He is 
certain to be found, as are any of the deterrent people in the 
Pilgrim's Progress. He is the man in whose eyes there is ruin 
lurking in every form of prosperity, who sees only the dark side 
of things — to whom, as we now say, everything " is going to 
the dogs." 

We will call him Mr. Calamity, for that name represents 
what he had come to be as a prophet.* 

One day young Franklin heard behind him the tap, tap, 
tap of a cane. It was a time when Philadelphia was begin- 
ning to rise, and promised unparalleled prosperity. The cane 
stopped with a heavy sound. 

"What— what is this I hear?" said Mr. Calamity. "You 
are starting a printing office, they say. I am sorry, sorry." 

" Why are you sorry, sir? " asked the young printer. 



* The old gentleman \vho suggests this character was named Mickle or 
Wikle. 

1C8 



ME. CALAMITY. 169 

" Oh, you are a smart, capable young man, one who in the 
right place would succeed in life. I hate to see you throw 
yourself away.^' 

" But is not this the right place? " 

"What, Philadelphia?" 

" Yes, it is growing." 

" That shows how people are deceived. Haven't you any 
eyes? " 

" Yes, yes." 

"But what were they made for? Can't you see what is 
coming? " 

" A great prosperity, sir." 

" Oh, my young man, how you are deceived, and how 
feather-headed people have deceived you! Don't you know 
that this show of prosperity is all delusion; that people of 
level heads are calling in their bills, and that this is a hard 
time for creditors? The age of finery has gone, and the age 
of rags has come. Eags, sir, rags! " 

" No, sir, no. I thought the people were getting out of 
debt. See how many people are building." 

" They are building to be ready for the crash — they do not 
know what else to do with their money; calamity is coming." 

" But how do you know, sir? " 

" Know ? It requires but little wit to know. I can feel 
it in my head. The times are not what they used to be. Wil- 
liam Penn is dead, and none of his descendants are equal to 
him. Look at the Quakers, see how worldly they are be- 
coming! Most people are living beyond their means! 
Property," he added, " is all on the decline. In a few 



170 TRUE TO niS HOME. 

years you will see people moving away from here. You will 
hear that the Proprietors have failed. Young man, don't go 
into business here. Let me tell you a secret, though I hate to 
do it, as your heart is bent upon setting up the printing business 
here; listen to me now — the whole province is going to fail. 
Before us is bankruptcy. Do you hear it — that awful, awful 
word hanJcruptcy? The Governor himself, in 2ny opinion, is 
on the way to bankruptcy now. The town will have to all go 
out of business, and then there will be bats and owls in the gar- 
rets, and the wharves will rot. I sometimes think that I will 
have to quit my country." 

" Do other folks think as you do ? " 

"Ay, ay, don't they? All that have any heads with eyes. 
Some folks have eyes for the present, some for the past, and 
some for the future. I am one of those that have eyes for 
the future. I expect to see grass growing in the streets before 
I die, and I shall not have to live long to pluck buttercups un- 
der the King's Arms. I pity young chickens like you that will 
have no place to run to." 

" But, sir," said young Franklin, " suppose things do take 
another turn. The young settlers are all building; the old 
people are enlarging their estates. It is easy to borrow money, 
and it looks to me that we will have here twice as many people 
in another generation as we have now. If the city should grow, 
what an opening there is for a printer! I shall take the risk." 

" Eisk — risk? Jump off a ship on the high sea with an iron 
ball on your feet! Go down, and stick there. Business, I tell 
you, is going to die here, and who would want to read what 
a stripling like you would write outside of business? You 



MR. CALAMITY. 171 

would print that this one had failed, that that one had failed, 
and one don't collect hills handy from people who have failed. 
1 tell you that the whole province is about to fail, and Philadel- 
phia is going to ruin, and I advise you to turn right about and 
pack up, and go to some other place. There will never be any 
chance for you here." 

Tap, tap, tap, went his cane, and he moved away. 

Young Franklin started to go to his work with a heavy 
heart. The cane stopped. Old Mr. Calamity looked around. 

" I've warned you," said he with a flourish of the cane. 
" I tell you, I tell you everything is going back to the wilder- 
ness, and I pity you, but not half so much as you will pity 
yourself if you embark in the printing business, and print fail- 
ures for nothing, to fail yourself some day. This is the age of 
rags, rags! " 

Tap, tap, tap, went on the cane, and the old gentleman 
chuckled. 

Young Franklin went on in his business. What was he 
to do? He saw everything with hopeful eyes. But he was 
young. His heart told him to go on in his undertaking, and 
he went on. 

He had been laughed at in Boston, and old Mr. Calamity 
had risen up here to laugh at him again. 

He knew not how it was, but it was in him to become a 
printer. As the young waterfowl knows the water as soon as it 
toddles from his nest, so young Franklin from his boyhood saw 
his life in this new element; the press was to be the source of 
America's rise, power, and glory, the throne of the republic; 
it was to make and mold and fulfill by its influence public 



172 TRUE TO HIS nOME. 

opinion; the same public opinion was to rule America, and 
the young printer of Philadelphia was to lead the way now, 
and to reap the fruits of his spiritual resolution after he was 
seventy years of age. He saw it, he felt it, he knew his own 
mind. So he left behind old Mr. Calamity for the present, but 
he was soon to meet him again. 

He had now taken a third step on the ladder of life. His 
business should be built upon honor. 

The next time that he met .Mr. Calamity, the old gentleman 
gave him a view of the prospects of a printer. 

" If you think that you are going to get your foot on the 
ladder of life by becoming a printer, you will find that you 
have mistaken your calling. None of the great men of old were 
printers, were they ? Homer was no printer, was he ? " 

" I have never heard that he was." 

" Nor did you hear of any one who ever printed the Iliad 
or the Odyssey. No printer was ever heard of among 
the immortals. A printer just prints — that is all. Solomon 
never printed anything, did he? " 

" I never read that he did, sir." 

" Nor Shakespeare? " 

" I never heard that he did, sir." 

" A printer has no chance to rise; he just builds the krk 
for Noah to sail in, and is left behind himself." 

" I hope to print some of my own thoughts, sir."* 

"You do? Ha! ha! ha! Who do vou think is goins; to 
read them?. Your own thoughts — that does give me a stitch 
in the side, and makes me laugh so loud and swing my cane 
so high that it sets the cats and dogs to running. See them go 



MR. CALAMITY. 173 

over the garden fence! I shall watch your course, and when 
you begin to scatter your ideas about in the world, I hope I 
will be living to gather some of them up. I hoj)e they will 
never lead a revolution! " 

Franklin's " Qa Ira " were the words that led the French 
Revolution. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

feanklin's struggles with franklin. 

At the age of fifteen Franklin had avowed himself a deist, 
or theist, which must have grieved his parents, who were peo- 
ple of positive Christian faith. He loved to argue, and when 
he had learned the Socratic art of asking questions so as to 
lead one to confuse himself, and of answering questions in the 
subjunctive mood, he sought nothing more than disputations 
in the stanch Puritan town. His intimate friends were de- 
ists, but they came to early failure through want of faith or any 
positive moral conviction. Governor Keith was a deist. 

The reader may ask what we mean by a deist here. A 
deist or theist in Franklin's time was one who believed in a 
God, but questioned the Christian faith and system. He was 
not an atheist. He held that a personal governing power 
directed all things after his own will and purpose. Under the 
providence of this Being things came and went, and man could 
not know how or why, but could simply believe that all that 
was was for the good of all. 

At the age of twenty-two young Franklin began to see that 
life without faith had no meaning, biit was failure. In the 
omnipotence of spiritual life and power the soul must share or 

174 



FRANKLIN'S STRUGGLES WITH FRANKLIN. 175 

die. Negations or denials did not satisfy him. This was a 
positive world, governed by spiritual law. To disobey these 
laws was loss and death. 

He had been doing wrong. He had done wrong in yield- 
ing to his personal feelings in leaving home in the manner 
which he did. He had committed acts of social wrong. He 
had followed at times the law of the lower nature instead of 
the higher. He had become intimate with two friends who 
had led him into unworthy conduct, and over whom his own 
influence had not been good. He saw that the true value of 
life lies in its influence. There were things in his life that tend- 
ed to ruin influence. There were no harvests to be expected 
from the barren rocks of negation and denials of faith in the 
highest good. Sin gives one nothing that one can keep. He 
must change his life, he must obey perfectly the spiritual laws 
of his being. He saw it, and resolved to begin. 

Now began a struggle between Benjamin Franklin the 
natural man and Benjamin Franklin the spiritual man that 
lasted for life. It became his purpose to gain the spiritual mas- 
tery, and to obey the laws of regeneration and eternal life. 

Here are his first resolutions: 

" Those who write of the art of poetry teach us that, if we 
would write what may be worth reading, we ought always, be- 
fore we begin to form a regular plan and design of our piece; 
otherwise we shall be in danger of incongruity. I am apt to 
think it is the same as to life. I have never fixed a regular de- 
sign in life, by which means it has been a confused variety of 
different scenes. I am now entering upon a new life; let me, 
therefore, make some resolutions, and form some scheme of 



176 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

action, that henceforth I ma}^ live in all respects like a rational 
creature. 

"1. It is necessary for me to be extremely frugal for some 
time, till 1 have paid what I owe. 

" 2. To endeavor to speak truth in every instance, to give 
nobody expectations that are not likely to be answered, but 
aim at sincerity in every word and action; the most amiable 
excellence in a rational being. 

" 3. To apply myself industriously to whatever business 
I take in hand, and not divert my mind from my business by 
any foolish project of growing suddenly rich; for industry and 
patience are the surest means of plenty. 

" 4. I resolve to speak ill of no man whatever, not even in a 
matter of truth; but rather by some means excuse the faults 
I hear charged upon others, and, upon proper occasions, speak 
all the good I know of everybody." 

But there must be a personal God, since he himself had per- 
sonality, and he must seek a union of soul with his will beyond 
these mere moral resolutions. 

At the age of twenty-two he composed a litany after the 
manner of the Episcopal Church, but adapted to his own 
conditions. In this he prays for help in the points where he 
had found himself to be morally and spiritually weak. 

These petitions and resolutions show his inward struggles. 
They reveal his ideals, and to fulfill these ideals became the end 
of his life. For the acts of wrong which he had done in his 
period of adventures, and the unworthy life that he had then 
led, he tried to make reparation. The spiritual purpose of Ben- 
jamin Franklin had obtained the mastery over the natural man. 



FRANKLIN'S STEUGGLES WITH FRANKLIN. 177 

Honor was his star, and more spiritual light was his desire and 
quest. 

He married Miss Eead, the young woman who had laughed 
at him wlien he had entered Philadelphia eating his penny 
roll, with two rolls of bread under his arm, and his superfluous 
clothing sticking out of his pocket. He had neglected her 
during his adventures abroad, but she forgave him, and he had 
become in high moral resolution another man now. 

As a printer in Philadelphia his paper voiced the public 
mind and heart on all which were then most worthy. To pub- 
lish a paper that advocates the best sentiments of a virtuous 
people is the shortest way to influence in the world. Frank- 
lin found it so. The people sought in him the representative, 
and from the printing office he was passed by natural and easy 
stages to the balls of legislation. 

So these resolutions to master himself may be regarded as 
another step on the ladder of life. To benefit the world by 
inventions is a good thing, but to lift it by an example of self- 
control and an unselfish life is a nobler thing, and on this plane 
we find young Franklin standing now. Franklin 'g the master 
of Franklin, and the influence of Silence Dogood through the 
press is filling the province of Pennsylvania. The paper which 
he established in Philadelphia was called the Pennsylvania Ga- 
zette. In connection with this he began to publish a very 
popular annual called Poor Eichard's Almanac, about which 
we will tell you in another chapter. 

Eight doing is the way to advancement — Franklin had this 
resolution; a newspaper that voices the people is a way to ad- 
vancement — such a one Franklin had founded; and good hu- 



178 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

mor is a way to advancement, and of this Franklin found an 
expression in Poor Eichard's Almanac which has not yet ceased 
to be quoted in the world. It was the means of conveying 
Silence Dogood's special messages to every one. It made the 
whole world happier. Franklin, on account of the wise say- 
ings in the almanac, himself came to be called " Poor Richard." 



o^ 



CHAPTEE XXV. 



THE MAGICAL BOTTLE. 



Feanklin is now a man of character, benevolence, wisdom, 
and humor. He is a printer, a pubHsher, a man whose thoughts 
are influencing pubhc opinion. He is a very prosperous man; he 
is making money and reputation, 'but it is not the gaining of 
either of these that is true success, but of right influence. It 
is not the answer to the question. What are you worth? or What 
is your popularity? but What is your influence? that determines 
the value of a man. 

He had founded life on right principles, and he had well 
learned the trade in his youth that leads a poor young man of 
right principles and nobility to success. He took the right 
guideboard, and the " Please-everybody " Governor did him a 
good service when he showed him that to become a printer in 
Philadelphia would bring him influence, fame, and fortune. 
People who are well meaning, beyond the ability to fulfill their 
intentions, sometimes reveal to others what may be of most 
use to them. It was not altogether an unfortunate day when 
the wandering printer boy met Governor Keith. 

In the midst of his prosperity Silence Dogood was con- 
stantly seeking out inventions to help people. When he was 
about thirty-four years of age, in the Poor Eichard days, 

179 



ISO TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

he saw that the forests were disappearing, and that there would 
be a need for the people to practice economy in the use of 
fuel. The fireplaces in the chimneys were great consumers of 
wood, and in many of them, to use the housewife's phrase, 
"•' the heat all went up the chimney." But that was not all; 
many of the chimneys of the good people smoked, and in mak- 
ing a fire rooms would be filled with smoke, or. to use again the 
housewife's term, '• the smoke would all come out into the 
room." 

"\Mien this was so the people would all flee to cold rooms 
with smarting eyes. Xew houses in which chimneys smoked 
were sometimes taken down or altered to make room for new 
chimneys that would draw. Franklin sought to bring relief 
to tliis sorry condition of affairs. 

He invented the Franklin stove, from which the heat would 
go out into the room, and not " up the chimbly," to use a 
provincial word. Tliis cheerful stove became a great comfort 
to the province, and to foreign countries as well. It saved fuel, 
and brought the heat of the fire into the room. 

He lonsf afterward began to studv chimnevs, and after much 
experiment found that those that smoked need not be taken 
down, but that only a draught was needed to cause the smoke 
to rise in rarefied air. The name of the Franklin stove added 
very greatly to Poor Eichard's wisdom, in making for Frank- 
lin an American reputation, which also extended to Europe. 
His fame arose along original ways. Surely no one ever walked 
in such ways before. 

He formed a club called the Junto, which became very pros- 
perous, and gave strength to his local reputation. He also began 



THE MAGICAL BOTTLE. 181 

a society for the study of universal knowledge, which was called 
the Philosophical Society. 

A man can do the most when he is doing the most. One 
thing leads to another; one thing feeds another, and one does 
not suffer in health or nerves from the many things that one 
loves to do. It is disinclination or friction that wears one 
down. People who have been very busy in what they most 
loved to do have usuallv lived to be old, and come down to old 
age in the full exercise of their powers. 

While Franklin was thus seeking how he could make him- 
self useful to ever}^ one in many ways — for a purpose of iLseful- 
ness finds many paths — his attention was called to a very curi- 
ous discovery that had been made in the Dutch city of Leyden, 
in November, 1745. It was an electrical bottle called the 
Leyden jar. 

Xature herself had been discharging on a stupendous scale 
her own Leyden jars through all generations, but no one seems 
to have understood these phenomena until this memorable year 
brought forth the magical little bottle which was a flashlight 
in the long darkness of time. 

The Greeks had found that amber when rubbed would at- 
tract certain light substances, and the ancient philosophers 
and doctors had discovered the value of an electric shock from 
a torpedo in rheumatic complaints; that sparks would follow 
the rubbing of the fur of animals in cold air had also been no- 
ticed, but of magnetism, and of electricity, which is a current 
of magnetism, the world was ignorant, except as tor some of 
its more common and obvious effects. 

In 1600 Dr. Gilbert, of England, discovered that many other 



182 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

substances besides amber could be made to develop an attractive 
power. He also discovered that there are many substances 
that can not be electrically excited. 

In 1650 Otto von Guericke, the inventor of the air-pump, 
made a machine which looked like a little orinJstone — a wheel 
of sulphur mounted on a turning axle, which being used with 
friction produced powerful electrical sparks and lights. He 
found by experiments with this machine that bodies thus ex- 
erted by friction may impart electricity to other bodies, and that 
bodies so electrified may repel as well as attract. 

Sir Isaac Newton made an electrical machine of glass, and 
Stephen Gray, in 1720, said that if a large amount of electricity 
could be stored, great results might be expected from it. 

Charles Frangois Dufay detected that there were two kinds 
of electricity, which he called " vitreous " and " resinous." 

A great discovery was coming. The first beams of a new 
planet were rising. How did there come into existence the 
" magical bottle " known as the Leyden jar? 

At Leyden three philosophers were experimenting in elec- 
tricity. " We can produce electrical effects," said one. " If 
we could accumulate and retain electricity we would have 
power." 

They electrified a cannon suspended by silk cords. A 
few minutes after ceasing to turn the handle of the electrical 
machine which supplied the cannon with fluid, the charge was 
gone. 

" If we could surround an electrified body with a noncon- 
ducting substance," said Professor Musschenbroek, " we could 
imprison it; we could accumulate and store it." He added: 



THE MAGICAL BOTTLE. 183 

" Glass is a nonconductor of electricity, and water is a good 
conductor. If I could charge with electricity water in a bottle, 
I could possess it and control it like other natural powers." 

He attempted to do this. He suspended a wire from a 
charged cannon to the water in a bottle, but for a time no re- 
sult followed. 

One day, however, Mr. Cuneus, one of the scientists, while 
engaged in this experiment, chanced to touch the conductor 
with one hand and the electrified bottle with the other. It was 
a mere accident. He leaped in terror. What had happened? 
He had received an electric shock. What did it mean? A 
revolution in the use of one of the greatest of the occult forces 
of Nature. 

Terror was followed by amazement. Mr. Cuneus told Pro- 
fessor Musschenbroek wh^ had happened. 

The professor repeated the experiment, with the same result. 

If electricity could be secured, accumulated, and discharged, 
what might not follow as the results of further experiments? 

It was several days before the professor recovered from the 
shock. " I would not take a second shock," he said, " for the 
kingdom of France! " 

Thus the Ley den jar came into use. The news of the ex- 
periment flew over Germany and Europe. Scientific people 
everywhere went to making Leyden jars and imprisoning elec- 
tricity. 

Society took up the invention as a wonder toy. Gunpowder 
was discharged from the point of the finger by persons charged 
on an insulating stool. Electrical kisses passed from bold lips 
to lips in social circles. Even timid people mounted up on 



184 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

cakes of resin that their friends might see their hair stand on 
end. Sir Wilham Watson, of London, completed the electrical 
fountain by coating the bottle in and out with tinfoil. 

The great news reached America. Franklin heard of it; 
no ears were more alert than his to profit by suggestions like 
this. 

Mr. Peter Collinson, of London, sent to him an account of 
Professor Musschenbroek's magical bottle. 

He told his friends of the Junto Club of the invention, and 
set them all to rubbing electric substances for sparks. 

He had invented many useful things. A new force had 
fallen under the control of man. He must investigate it; he 
must experiment with it; he too must have a magical bottle. 

" I never," he wrote in 1747, " was before engaged in any 
study that so totally engrossed my attention and time as this 
has lately done; for what with making experiments when I 
can be alone, and repeating them to mj friends and acquaint- 
ances who from the novelty of the thing come continually in 
crowds to see them, I have during some months past had little 
leisure for anything else." 

What was magnetism? What was electricity? What se- 
crets of Nature might the magical bottle reveal? To what use 
might the new power which might be stored and imprisoned 
be put? Silence Dogood, ponder night and day over the 
curious toy. The world waits for you to speak, for Nature is 
about to reveal one of her greatest secrets to you — you who 
gave two penny rolls to the poor woman and child on the 
street, after Deborah Eead, your wife now, had had her good 
laugh. Your good wife will laugh again some day, when you 



THE MAGICAL BOTTLE. 185 

have further poked around among electrical tubes and bottles, 
and have brought your benevolent mind to bear upon some of 
the secrets contained in the magical bottle. You have added 
virtue to virtue; you are adding intelligence to intelKgence; 
such things grow. Discoveries come to those who are prepared 
to receive them. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE ELECTRIFIED YIAL AND THE QUESTIONS IT RAISED. 

There came from Europe to America at this time some 
electrical tubes, which being rubbed produced surprising re- 
sults. To the curious they were toys, but to Franklin they 
were prophecies. There were three Philadelphians who joined 
with Franklin in the study of the effects that could be pro- 
duced by these tubes and the Leyden vial. 

Franklin's son William was verging on manhood. He vras 
beyond the years that we find liim experimenting with his 
father in the old pictures. He became the last royal Gov- 
ernor of 'New Jersey some years afterward, and a Tory, and his 
politics at that period was a sore grief to his father's heart. 
But he was a bright, free-hearted boy now, nearly twenty, and 
his father loved him, and the two were harmonious and were 
companions for each other. 

Franklin, we may suppose, interested the boy in the bris- 
tling tubes and the magical bottle. The stored electricity in 
the latter was like the imprisoned genii of the Arabian Nights. 
Let the fairy loose, he suddenly mingled with native elements, 
and one could not gather him again. But another could be 
gathered. 

18G 



THE ELECTRIFIED \aAL. 187 

The Philadelphia philosophers wondered greatly at the new 
effects that Franklin was able to produce from the tubes and 
the bottle. Did not the genii in the vial hold the secret of 
the earth, and might not the earth itself be a magnet, and 
might not magnetism fill interstellar space? 

The wonder grew, and its suggestions. One of the Phila- 
delphia philosophers, Philip Sing, invented an electrical ma- 
chine. A like machine had been made in Europe, but of this 
Mr. Sing did not know. 

The Philadelphia philosophers discovered the power of me- 
tallic points to draw off electricity. 

" Electricity is not created by friction," observed one of these 
men. " It is only collected by it." 

" And all our experiments show," argued Franklin, " that 
electricity is positive and negative." 

. During the winter of 1746-'47 these men devoted as much 
of their time as they could spare to electrical experiments. 

" William," said one of the philosophers to the son of Frank- 
lin one day, " you have brought your friends here to see the 
vial genii; he is a lively imp. Let me show you some new 
things which I found he can do." 

He brought out a bottle of spirits and poured the liquid into 
a plate. " Stand up on the insulating stool, my boy, and let 
me electrify you, and see if the imp loves liquor." 

The lively lad obeyed. He pointed his finger down to 
the liquor in the plate. It burst into flame, startling the 
audience. 

" Now," said another of the philosophers, " let me ask you 
to give me a magic torch." 



188 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

He presented to his finger a candle witli an alcoholic w4ck. 
The candle was at once lighted, emitting sparks as it began to 
burn. 

" Hoi, hoi ! " said the philosopher to the young visitors, 
" what do you think of a young man whose touch is fire? We 
have a Faust among us, sure! " 

" Now, girls, which of you would like to try an experi- 
ment ? " we may suppose Father Franklin to say, in the spirit 
of Poor Richard. 

"William stepped down, and an adventurous girl took his 
place on the experimental stool. 

" You have all heard of the electric kiss," said Poor Rich- 
ard. " Let this young lady give you one. I will prepare her 
for it." 

He did. 

Another girl stepped up to receive it. She expected to re- 
ceive a spark from her friend's lips; but instead of a spark she 
received a shock that caused her to leap and to bend double, 
and to utter a piercing cry. 

" I don't think that the kissing of young men and young 
women in public is altogether in good taste," said the philoso- 
phers, " but if any of you young men want to salute this lively 
young lady in that way, there will be in this case no objec- 
tions." 

But none of the young men cared to be thrown into convul- 
sions by the innocent-looking lass, who seemed to feel no dis- 
comfort. 

Experiments like these filled the city and province with 
amazement. The philosopher made a spider of burned cork 



THE ELECTRIFIED VIAL. 189 

that would run, and cause other people to run who had not 
learned the wherefore of the curious experiment. 

The wonderful Leyden vial became Franklin's compan- 
ion. He liked ever to be experimenting in what the new force 
would do. What next? what next? How like lightning was 
this electricity! How could he increase electrical force? 

He says at the end of a long narrative: 

" We made what we called an electrical lattery, consisting 
of eleven panes of large sash-glass, armed with tliiji leaden 
plates pasted on each side, placed vertically, and supported at 
two inches distance on silk cords, with thick hooks of leaden 
wire, one from each side, standing upright, distant from each 
other, and convenient communications of wire and chain, from 
the giving side of one pane to the receiving side of the other, 
that so the whole might be charged together." 

Franklin at this time was a stanch royalist. He made a 
figure of George II, with a crown, and so arranged it that the 
powerful electrical force might be stored in the crown. 

" God bless him! " said the philosopher. 

A young man seeing that the crown was very attractive, at- 
tempted to remove it. It was a thing that the philosopher had 
expected. 

The youth touched the crown. He reeled, and started back 
with a stroke that filled him with amazement. 

" So be it with all of King George's enemies! " said the phi- 
losophers. " Never attempt to discrown the king." 

" God bless him! " said Franklin. His son always contin- 
ued to say this, but Franklin himself came to see that he who 
discrowns kings may be greater than kings, and that it became 



190 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

the duty of a people to discrown tj'rannical kings, and to make 
a king of the popular will. 

Franklin now resolved to give up his business affairs to 
others, to refuse political office, and to devote himself to sci- 
ence. The latter resolution he did not keep. He went to live 
on a retired spot on the Delaware, where he had a large gar- 
den, and could be left to his experiments and thoughts upon 
them. With him went the magical bottle and his interesting 
son William. 

The power of metallic points to draw off lightning now 
filled his mind. " Could the lightning be controlled? " he be- 
gan to ask. " Could the power of the thunderbolt be dis- 
armed ? " 

Every element can be made to obey its own laws. Water 
will bear up iron if the iron be hollow. But deeply and more 
deeply must the thoughts engage the mind of the philosopher. 
" Is lightning electricity? Does electricity fill all space? " He 
wrote two philosophical papers at this critical period of his life, 
when he sought to give up money-making and political life 
for the study of that science which would be most useful to 
man. He who gives up gains. He who is willing to deny him- 
self the most shall have the most. He that loseth his life shall 
save it. He who seeketh the good of others shall find it in 
himself. 

One of these papers was entitled " Opinions and Conjectures 
concerning the Properties and Effects of the Electrical IMat- 
ter, and the Means of preserving Ships and Buildings from 
Lightning, arising from Experiments and Observations at 
Philadelphia in 1749." 



THE ELECTRIFIED VIAL. 191 

In this treatise, which at last made his fame, he shows the 
similarity of electricity to lightning, and gives a description of 
an experiment in which a little lightning-rod had drawn away 
electricity from an artificial storm cloud. He says: 

" If these things are so, may not the knowledge of this power 
of points he of use to mankind in preserving houses, churches, 
ships, etc., from the stroke of lightning, by directing us to fix 
on the highest part of those edifices upright rods of iron made 
sharp as a needle, and gilt to prevent rusting, and from the foot 
of those rods a wire down the outside of the building into the 
ground, or down round one of the shrouds of a ship, and down 
her side till it reaches the water? Would not these pointed rods 
probably draw the electrical fire silently out of a cloud before it 
came nigh enough to strike, and thereby secure us from that 
most sudden and terrible mischief?" 

A great discovery was at hand. 



CHAPTEE XXYII. 

THE GREAT DISCOVERY. 

It was a June day, 1752 — one of the longest days of the 
year. Benjamin Frankhn was then forty-six years of age. 

The liouse garden was full of bloom; the trees were in 
leafage, and there was the music of blooms in the hives of the 
bees. 

Beyond the orchards and great trees the majestic Delaware 
rolled in purple splendor, dotted with slanting sails. 

Nature was at the full tide of the year. The river winds 
swept over the meadows in green waves, where the bobolinks 
toppled in the joy of their songs. 

It had been a hot morning, and billowy clouds began to 
rise in the still heat on the verge of the sky. 

Benjamin Franklin sat amid the vines and roses of his door. 

" William," he said to his son, " I am expecting a shower to- 
day. I have long been looking for one. I want you to remain 
with me and witness an experiment that I am about to make." 

Silence Dogood, or Father Franklin, then brought a kite 
out to the green lawn. The kite had a very long hempen 
string, and to the end of it, which he held in his hand, he be- 
gan to attach some silk and a key. 

193 



THE GREAT DISCOVERY. 193 

" When I was a boy," said Franklin, " and lived in the town 
of Boston by the marshes, I made a curious experiment with a 
kite. I let it tow me along the water where I went swimming. 
I have always liked flying kites. I hope that this one will 
bring me good luck should a shower come." 

"What do you expect to do with it, father?" 

" If the cloud comes up with thunder, and lightning 
be electricity, I am going to try to secure a spark from the 
sky." 

The air was still. The cloud was growing into mountain- 
like peaks. The robins and thrushes were singing lustily in 
the trees, as before a shower. The men in the cornfields and 
gardens paused in their work. 

Presently a low sound of thunder rolled along the sky. The 
cloud now loomed high and darkened in the still, hot air. 

" It is coming," said Franklin, " and the cloud will be a 
thunder gust. It is early in the season for such a cloud as that. 
See how black it grows! " 

The kite was made of a large silk handkerchief fastened to 
a perpendicular stick, on the top of which was a piece of sharp- 
ened iron wire. The philosopher examined it carefully. 

" What if you should receive a spark from the cloud, 
father? " asked the young man. 

" I would then say lightning was electricity, and that it 
could be controlled, and that human life might be protected 
from the thunderbolt." 

" But would not that thwart the providence of God ? " 

" No, it would merely cause a force of Nature to obey its 
own laws so as to protect life instead of destroying it." 



194 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

The sky darkened. The sun went out. The sea birds flew 
inland and screamed. The field birds stood panting on the 
shrubs with drooping wings. 

A rattling thunder peal crossed the sky. The wind 
began to rise, and to cause the early blasted young fruit to 
fall in the orchards. The waves on the Delaware curled 
white. 

" Let us go to the cattle-shed," said Father Franklin. " I 
have been laughed at all my life, and do not care to have my 
neighbors tell the story of my experiment to others if I should 
fail." 

The two went together to the cattle-shed on the green 
meadow. 

The wind was roaring in the distance. The poultry were 
running home, and the cattle were seeking the shelter of the 
trees. 

The cloud was now overhead. Dark sheets of rain in the 
horizon looked like walls of carbon reared against the sky. The 
lightning was sharp and frequent. There came a vivid flash 
followed by a peal of thunder that shook the hills. 

" The cloud is overhead now," said Franklin. 

He ran out into the green meadow and threw the kite 
against the wind. 

It rose rapidly and was soon in the sky, drifting in the 
clouds that seemed full of the vengeful fluid. 

At the termination of the hempen cord dangled the 
key, and the silk end was wound around the philosopher's 
hand. 

The young man took charge of a Leyden jar which he had 



THE GREAT DISCOVERY. 195 

brought to the shed, in which to collect electricity from the 
clouds, should the experiment prove successful. 

The cloud came on in its fury. The rain began to fall. 
Franklin and his son stood under the shed. 

The air seemed electrified, but no electricity appeared in 
the hempen string. Franklin presented his knuckle to the key, 
but received no spark. 

What was that? 

The hempen string began to bristle like the hair of one elec- 
trified. Was it the wind ? Was it electricity? 

Benjamin Franklin now touched the key with thrilling emo- 
tion, while his son looked on with an excited face. It was a 
moment of destiny not only to the two experimenters in the 
dashing rain, but to the world. If Franklin should receive a 
spark from the key, it would change the currents of the world's 
events. 

Flash! 

It came clear and sharp. The heavens had responded to 
law — to the command of the human will guided by law. 

Again, another spark. 

The boy touches the key. He, too, is given the evidence 
that has been given to his father. 

The two looked at each other. 

" Lightning is electricity," said Silence Dogood. " It can 
be drawn away from points of danger; no one need be struck 
by lightning if he will protect himself." 

" God himself," once said a Avriter, " could not strike one by 
lightning if one were insulated, without violating his own 
laws." 



196 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

And now came the consummation of one of the grandest ex- 
periments of time. He charged the Leyden Jar from the 
clouds. 

" Stand back! " 

He touched his hand boldly to the magical bottle. A 
shock thrilled him. His dreams had come true. He had con- 
quered one of the most potent elements on earth. 

The storm passed, the clouds broke, the wind swept by, and 
the birds sang again over the bending clover. Night serene with 
stars came on. That was probably the happiest day in all 
Franklin's eventful life. Like the patriarch of old, " his chil- 
dren were about him." He shared his triumph with the son 
whom he loved. 

But — he sent a paper on the results of his observation in 
electricity to the Royal Society at London, in which he an- 
nounced his discovery that lightning was electricity. The so- 
ciety did not deem it worth publishing; it was a neglected man- 
uscript, and as for his theory in regard to the electric fluid and 
universality, that, we are told by Franklin's biographers, " was 
laughed at." 

But his views had set all Europe to experimenting. Scien- 
tists everywhere were proving that his theories were true. 
France had become very much excited over the discovery, and 
was already hailing the philosopher's name with shouts of ad- 
miration. Franklin's fame filled Europe, and the greatest of 
British societies began to honor him. It was Doctor Franklin 
now! — The honorary degree came to him from many institu- 
tions. — Doctor from England, Doctor from France, Doctor 
from American colleges. 



THE GREAT DISCOVERY. 197 

The boy who had shared his penny rolls with the poor 
woman and her child sat down to hear the world praising him. 

The facts that lightning was electricity or electricity was 
lightning, that it was positive and negative, that it could be 
controlled, that life could be made safe in the thunder gust, 
were but the beginning of a series of triumphs that have come 
to make messengers of the lightning, and brought the nations of 
the world in daily communication with each other. But the 
wizardlike Edison has shown that the influences direct and 
indirect of that June day of 1752 may have yet only begun. 
What magnetism and its currents are to reveal in another cen- 
tury we can not tell; it fills us with silence and awe to read 
the prophecies of the scientists of to-day. The electrical 
mystery is not only moving us and all things; we are 
burning it, we are making it medicine, health, life. What may 
it not some day reveal in regard to a spiritual body or the hu- 
man soul? 

The centuries to come can only reveal what will be the end 
of Franklin's discovery that lightning might be controlled to 
become the protector and the servant of man. Even his im- 
agination could hardly have forecast the achievements which 
the imp of the magical bottle would one day accomplish in this 
blind world. It is not that lightning is electricity, but that 
electricity is subject to laws, that has made the fiery substance 
the wonder-worker of the age. 

If Uncle Ben, the poet, could have seen this day, how would 
his heart have rejoiced! 

Jane Mecom — Jenny — heard of the fame of her brother 

by every paper brought by the post. She delighted to tell her 
14 



198 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

old mother the weekly news ahout Benjamin. One day, when 
he had received honors from one of the great scientifie socie- 
ties, Abiah said to her daughter: 

" You helped Ben in his early days — I can see now that you 
did." 

" How, mother? " 

" By believing in him wlien hardly any one else did. We 
build up people by believing in them. My dim eyes see it all 
now. I love to think of the past," she continued, " when you 
and Ben were so happy together — the days of Uncle Benjamin. 
I love to think of the old family Thanksgivings. What won- 
derful days were those when the old clock-cleaner came! How 
he took the dumb, dusty clock to pieces, and laid it out on the 
table! How Ben would say, ' you can never make that clock 
tick again! ' and you, Jenny, whose faith never failed, would 
answer, ' Yes, Ben, he can! ' How the old man would break 
open a walnut and extract the oil from the meat, and apply 
it with a feather to the little axles of the wheels, and then put 
the works together, and the clock would go better than before! 
Do you remember it, Jane? How, then, your wondering eyes 
would look upon the clock miracle and delight in your faith, 
and say, ' I told you so, Ben.' How he would kiss you in your 
happiness that your prophecy had come true. He had said 
' No ' that you might say ' Yes.' " 

" Do you think that his thoughts turn home, mother? " 
There was a whir of wings in the chimney. 

" More to a true nature than a noisy applause of the crowd 
is the simple faith of one honest heart," said Abiah Folger in 
return. " In the silence and desolation of life, which may come 



THE GREAT DISCOVERY. 199 

to all, such S3^mpathy is the only fountain to which one can turn. 
Our best thoughts fly homeward like swallows to old chimneys, 
where they last year brooded over their young, and center in 
the true hearts left at the fireside. Every true heart is true to 
his home, and to the graves of those with whom it shared the 
years when life lay fair before it. Yes, Jane, he thinks of 
you." 

She was right. Jenny had helped her brother by believing 
in him when he most needed such faith. 

There is some good angel, some Jenny, who comes into 
every one's life. Happy is he who feels the heart touch of 
such an one, and yields to such unselfish spiritual visions. To 
do this is to be led by a gentle hand into the best that there is 
in life. 

In sacred hours the voices of these home angels come 
back to the silent chambers of the heart. We then see that 
our best hopes were in them, and wish that we could retune 
the broken chords of the past. The home voice is always true, 
and we find it so at last. 

Franklin had little of his sister's sentiment, but when he 
thought of the old days, and of the simple hearts that were true 
to him there, he would say, " Beloved Boston." His heart was 
in the words. Boston was the town of Jenny. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 

HOME-COMING IN DISGUISE. 

Theee is a very delightful fiction, which may have blos- 
somed from fact, which used to be found in schoolbooks, under 
the title of " The Story of Franklin's Return to his Mother 
after a Long Absence." 

It would have been quite like him to have returned to Bos- 
ton in the guise of a stranger. Some one has said that he had 
a joke for everything, and that he would have put one into the 
Declaration of Independence had he been able. 

The tendency to make proverbs that Franklin showed in 
his early years grew, and if he were not indeed as wise as King 
Solomon, no one since the days of that Oriental monarch has 
made and " sought out " so many proverbs and given them to 
the world. 

The maxims of Poor Richard, which were at first given to 
the world through an almanac, spread everywhere. They were 
current in most Boston homes; they came back to the ears of 
Jamie the Scotchman — back, we say, for some of them were 
the echoes of Silence Dogood's life in the Puritan province. 

Poor Richard's Almanac was a lively and curious miscellany, 
and its coming was an event in America. Franklin put the wis- 
dom that he gained by experience into it. In the following 

200 



HOME-COMING IN DISGUISE. 201 

resolution was the purpose of his life at this time: " I wished to 
live," he says, " without committing any fault at any time, and 
to conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or com- 
pany might lead me into." 

" But — but," he says," I was surprised to find myself so much 
fuller of faults than I had imagined; but I had the satisfaction 
of seeing them diminish." In the spirit of this effort to correct 
life and to learn wisdom from experience, he gave Poor Eich- 
ard's Almanac annually to the world. Like some of the prov- 
erbs of Solomon, it taught the people life as he himself learned 
it. For years Franklin lived in Poor Richard, and it was 
his pulse beat, his open heart, that gave the annual its power. 
All the sayings of Poor Richard were not original with 
Franklin. When a critical proverb, or a line from one of the 
poets, would express his idea or conviction better than he could 
himself, he used it. For example, he borrowed some beautiful 
lines from Pope, who in turn had received the leading thought 
from a satire of Horace. 

While Franklin was learning wisdom from life, and express- 
ing it through Poor Richard, he was studying French, Ital- 
ian, and Spanish, and making himself the master of philosophy. 
" He who would thrive must rise at five," he makes Poor 
Richard say. He himself rose at five in the morning, and be- 
gan the day with a bath and a prayer. Intelligence to intelli- 
gence! 

Such was his life when Poor Richard was evolved. 

Who was Poor Richard, whose influence came to lead the 
thought of the time? 

Poor Richard was a comic almanac, or a character assumed 



202 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

by Benjamin Franklin, for the purpose of expressing his views 
of life. Having established a paper, Franklin saw the need of 
an annual and of an almanac, and he chose to combine the two, 
and to make the pamphlet a medium of hard sense in a rough, 
keen, droll way. 

He introduces himself in this curious annual as " Richard 
Saunders," " Poor Eichard." He has an industrious wife 
named Bridget. He publishes his almanac to earn a little 
money to meet his pressing wants. " The plain truth of the 
matter is," says this pretended almanac maker, " I am excessive 
poor, and my wife, good woman, is, I tell her, excessive proud; 
she cannot bear, she says, to sit spinning in her gown of tow, 
while I do nothing but gaze at the stars; and has threatened 
more than once to burn all my books and rattling-traps (as she 
calls my instruments) if I do not make some profitable use of 
them for the good of my family. The printer has offer'd me 
some considerable share of the profits, and I have thus began to 
comply with my dame's desire." 

This Titian Leeds was a pen name for his rival publisher, 
who also issued an almanac. The two had begun life in Phila- 
delphia together as printers. 

The way in which he refers to his rival in his new almanac, 
as a man about to die to fulfill the predictions of astrology, was 
so comical as to excite a lively interest. Would he die? If not, 
what would the next almanac say of him ? j\Ir. Leeds (Keimer) 
had a reputation of a knowledge of astronomy and astrology. 
In what way could Franklin have introduced a character to the 
public in the spirit of good-natured rivalry that would have 
awakened a more genuine curiosity? 



HOME-COMING IN DISGUISE. 203 

The next year Poor Richard announced that his ahna- 
nac had proved a success, and told the public the news that they 
were waiting for and much desired to hear: his wife Bridget had 
profited by it. She was now able to have a dinner-pot of her 
own, and something to put into it. 

But how about Titian Leeds, who was to die after the 
astrological prediction? The people awaited the news of the 
fate of this poor man, as we await the tidings of the end of a 
piece of statesmanship. He thus answers, " I can not say posi- 
tively whether he is dead or alive," but as the author of the rival 
almanac had spoken very disrespectfully of him, and as Mr, 
Leeds when living was a gentleman, he concludes that Mr. 
Leeds must be dead. 

In these comic annuals there is not only the almanacs and 
the play upon Titian Leeds, but a large amount of rude wisdom 
in the form of proverbs, aphorisms, and verses, most of which is 
original, but a part of which, as we have said, is apt quotation. 
The proverbs were everywhere quoted, and became a part of the 
national education. They became popular in France, and filled 
nearly all Europe. They are still quoted. Let us give you 
some of them: 

" Who has deceived thee so oft as thyself? " 

" Fly pleasures, and they will follow thee." 

" Let thy child's first lesson be obedience, and the second 
will be what thou wilt." 

" Industry need not wish." 

" In things of moment, on thyself depend, 
Nor trust too far thy servant or thy friend ; 
With private views, thy friend may promise fair, 
And servants very seldom prove sincere." 



204 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

Besides these quaint sayings, which became a part of the 
proverbial wisdom of the world, Franklin had a comical remark 
for every occasion, as, when a boy, he advised his father to say 
grace over the whole pork barrel, and so save time at the table. 
He once admonished Jenny in regard to her spelling, and that 
after she was advanced in life, by telling her that the true way 
to spell wife was yf. After the treaty of peace with England, 
he thought it only a courtesy that America should return de- 
ported people to their native shores. Once in Paris, on receiv- 
ing a cake labeled Le digne Franklin, which excited the jeal- 
ousy of Lee and Dean, he said that the present was meant for 
Lee-Dean-Franklin, that being the pronunciation of the French 
label. Every event had a comical side for him. 

Let us bring prosperous Benjamin Franklin back to Boston 
to see his widowed mother again, after the old story-book man- 
ner. She is nearly blind now, and we may suppose Jamie the 
Scotchman to be halting and old. 

He comes into the town in the stagecoach at night. Bos- 
ton has grown. The grand old Province House rises above 
it, the Indian vane turning hither and thither in the wind. 
The old town pump gleams under a lantern, as does the 
spring in Spring Lane, which fountain may have led to 
the settlement of the town. On a hill a beacon gleams over 
the sea. He passes the stocks and the whipping-post in the 
shadows. 

There is a light in the window of the Blue Ball. He sees 
it. It is very bright. Is his mother at work now that slie is 
nearly blind? 

He dismounts. He passes close to the old window. His 



HOME-COMING IN DISGUISE. 205 

father is not in the room; he never will be there again. But 
an aged man is there. Who is he? 

The man is reading — what? The most popular pam- 
phlet or little book that ever appeared in the colonies; a droll 
story. 

He knocks at the door. The old man rises and opens the 
door; the bell is gone. 

" Abiah, there's a stranger here." 

" Ask him who he is." 

" Say that he used to work here many years ago, and that 
he knew Josiah Franklin well, and was acquainted with Ben." 

" Tell him to come in," said the bent old woman with white 
hair. 

The stranger entered, and avoided questions by asking them, 

" What are you reading to-night, my good friend ? " he 
asked. 

" The Old Auctioneer," answered the aged man. " Have 
you read it?" 

" Yes; it is on the taxes." 

" So it is — I've read it twice over. I'm now reading it to 
Abiah. Ijct me tell you a secret — her son wrote it. My opin- 
ion is that it is the smartest piece of work that ever saw the 
light on this side of the water. What's yourn? " 

" There's sense in it." 

" What did he say his name was? " asked Abiah. 

"Have you ever read any of Poor Eichard's maxims?" 
asked the stranger quickly. 

" Yes, yes; we have taken the Almanac for years. Ben 
publishes it." 



206 TKUE TO HIS HOME. 

" What did he say? " asked Abiah. " I can not hear as well 
as I once could. — Stranger, I heard you when you spoke loud 
at the door." 

" Eepeat some of ' Poor Eichard's ' sayings," said the 
stranger. 

" You may well say ' repeat,' " said the old man. " I used 
to hear Ben Franklin say things like that when he was a 'pren- 
tice lad." 

'' Like what, my friend ? " 

" Like ' The noblest question in the world is what good may 
1 do in it?' There! Like 'None preaches better than the 
ant, and she says nothing.' There! " 

" I see, I see, my good friend, you seem to have confidence 
in Poor Richard? " 

" Sir, I taught him much of his wisdom — he and I used to 
be great friends. I always knew that he had a star in his soul 
that would shine — I foresaw it all. I have the gift of second 
sight. I am a Scotchman." 

" And you prophesied good things to him when he was a 
boy?" 

" Yes, yes, or, if I did not, I only spoke in a discouraging 
way to encourage him. He and I were chums; we used to sit 
on Long Wharf together and 'prognosticate together. That 
was a kind of Harvard College to us. Uncle Ben was living 
then." 

" Maybe the stranger would like you to read The Old Auc- 
tioneer," said Abiah to the Scotchman. " My boy wrote that — 
he told you. My boy has good sense — Jamie here will tell you 
so. I'm older now than I was." 



HOME-COMING IN DISGUISE. 207 

" Yes, yes, read, and let me rest. When the bell rings for 
nine I will go to the inn." 

" Maybe we can keep you here. We'll talk it over later. 
I want to hear Ben's piece. I'm his mother, and they tell me 
it is interesting to people who are no relation to him. — Jamie, 
you read the piece, and then we will talk over the past. It 
seems like meeting Ben again to hear his pieces read." 

Jamie the Scotchman read, and while he did so Abiah, 
wrinkled and old, looked often toward the stranger out of her 
dim eyes, while she listened to her son's always popular story 
of The Old Auctioneer. 

" That is a very good piece," said Abiah Franklin; " and 
now, stranger, let me say that your voice sounds familiar, and 
I want you to tell me in a good strong tone who you be. I 
didn't hear you give any name." 

"Is it almost nine? " asked the stranger. 

Jamie opened the door. 

A bell smote the still air, a silverlike bell. It spoke nine 
times. 

" I never heard that bell before," said the stranger. 

Suddenly music flooded the air; it seemed descending; 
there were many bells — and they were singing. 

" The Old ISTorth chimes," said the Scotchman; " they have 
just been put up. I wish Ben could hear them; I sort of carry 
him in my heart." 

" Don't speak! It is beautiful," said the stranger. " Hear 
what they are saying." 

" Jamie, Jamie, father used to play that tune on his 
Ad oil n." 



208 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Father! " The old woman started. 

" Ben, Ben, how could you! Come here; my eyes are fail- 
ing me, Ben, but my heart will never fail me. — Jamie, pre- 
pare for him his old room, and leave us to talk together! " 

" I will go out to Mrs. Mecom's, and tell her that Benjamin 
has come home." 

" Yes, yes, go and call Jenny." 

They talked together long: of Josiah, now gone; of Uncle 
Benjamin, long dead; and of Parson Sewell, and the deacons 
of the South Church, who had passed away. 

The door opened. Jenny again stood before him. She led 
on a boy by the hand, and said to her portly brother: 

" This, Benjamin, is Benjamin." 

They talked together until the tears came. 

He heard the whir of the swallows' wings in the chimney. 

" The swallows come back," he said, " but they will never 
come again. It fills my heart with tenderness to hear these 
old home sounds." 

" No, they will never come back from the mosses and ferns 
under the elms," said his mother. " The orioles come, the 
orchards bloom, and summer lights up the hills, and the leaves 
fall, but they will know no more changes or seasons. And I 
am going after their feet into the silence, Ben; I have almost 
got through. You have been a true son in the main, and Jenny 
has never stepped aside from the way. Always be good to 
Jenny." 

" Jenny, always be true to mother, and I will be as true to 
you." 

" Brother, I shall always be true to my home." 



CHAPTEE XXIX. 



" THOSE PAMPHLETS." 



Benjamin Franklin loved to meet Samuel Franklin, 
Uncle Benjamin's son, who also had caught the gentle philoso- 
pher's spirit, and was making good his father's intention. Sam- 
uel was a thrifty man in a growing town. 

" It is the joy of my life to find you so prosperous," said 
Franklin, " for it would have made your father's heart 
happy could he have known that one day I would find you so. 
Samuel, your father was a good man. I shall never cease to 
be grateful for his influence over me when I was a boy. He 
was my schoolmaster." 

" Yes, my father was a good man, and I never saw it as I 
do now. I was not all to him that I ought to have been. He 
was a poor man; he lived as it were on ideas, and people 
were accustomed to look upon him as a man who had failed 
in life." 

" He will never fail while you are a man of right influence," 
said Franklin. " He lives in you." 

" I feel his influence more and more every day," said 
Samuel. 

" Samuel Franklin, I do. Success does not consist in popu- 

209 



210 TKUE TO HIS HOME. 

larity or money-making. Eight influence is success in life. I 
have been an unworthy godson of your father, but I am more 
than ever determined to carry out the principles that he taught 
me; they are the only things that will stand in life; as for the 
rest, the grave swallows all. Your father's life shall never be 
a failure if my life can bring to it honor. 

" Samuel, I have not always done my best, but I resolve 
more and more to be worthy of the love of all men when I 
think of what a character your father developed. lie thought 
of himself last. He did not die poor. His hands were empty, 
but not his heart, and there sleeps no richer man in the Granary 
burying ground than he. 

" Samuel, he parted with his library containing the notes 
of his best thoughts in life in his efforts to come to America 
to give me the true lessons in life because I bore his name. It 
was a brotherly thought indeed that led my father who loved 
him to name me for him." 

" You speak of his library — his collection of religious books 
and pamphlets, which he wrote over Avith his own ideas; you 
have touched a tender spot in my heart. He wanted that I 
should have those pamphlets, and that I should try to recover 
them through some London agent. You are going to London. 
Do you think that they could be recovered after so many 
years?" 

" Samuel, there is a strange thing that I have observed. It 
is this: When a man looks earnestl}^ for a thing that some one 
has desired him to have, his mind is curiously influenced and has 
strange directions. It is like blindfolded children playing hot 
and cold. There is some strange instinct in one who seeks a 



''THOSE PAMPHLETS." 211 

hidden object for his own or others' good that leads his feet into 
mysterious ways. I have much faith in that hidden law. 
Samuel, I may be able to find those pamphlets; I thought of 
them when I was in London. If I do, I will buy them at what- 
ever cost, and will bring them to you, and may both of us try 
to honor the name of that loving, forgiving, noble man until 
we see each other again. It may be that when I shall come 
here another time, if I do, I will bring with me the pamphlets." 

" If you were to find them, I would indeed believe in a spe- 
cial Providence." 

The two parted. Poor Uncle Benjamin had sold his books 
for money, but was his life a failure, or was he never living 
more nobly than now? 

Franklin went to the Granary burying ground, where the 
old man slept. Great elms stood before the place. He thought 
of what his parents had been, how they had struggled and 
toiled, and how glad they were that Uncle Benjamin had come 
to them for his sake. He resolved to erect a monument there. 

He recalled Uncle Benjamin's teaching, that a man rises by 
overcoming his defects, and so gains strength. 

He had tried to profit by the old man's lesson in answer 
to his own question, " Have I a chance ? " 

He had not only struggled to make strong his conscious 
weaknesses of character, but those of his mental power as well. 

His old pedagogue, Mr. Brownell, had been unable to teach 
him mathematics. In this branch of elementary studies he had 
proved a failure and a dunce. But he had struggled against 
this defect of Nature, as against all others, with success. 

He was going to London as the agent of the colonies. He 



212 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

would carry back to England those principles that the old man 
had taught him, and would live them there. His Uncle Ben- 
jamin had written those principles in his " pamphlets," and 
again in his own life. Would he ever see these documents 
which had in fact been his schoolbooks, but which had come 
to him without the letter, because the old man had been too 
poor to keep the books? 



CHAPTER XXX. 



A STRANGE DISCOVERT. 



Franklin went to London. 

Franklin loved old bookstores. There were many in Lon- 
don, moldy and musty, in obscure corners, some of them in 
cellars and in narrow passageways, just off thronging streets. 

One day, when he was sixty years of age, just fifty years 
after his association with Uncle Benjamin, he wandered out 
into the byways of the old London bookstores. 

It was early spring; the winter fogs of London had disap- 
peared, the squares were turning green, the hedgerows bloom- 
ing, the birds were singing on the thorns. Such a sunny, blue 
morning might have called him into the country, but he turned 
instead into the fiowerless ways of the book stalls. He wan- 
dered about for a time and found nothing. Then he thought 
of old Humphrey, of whom he had bought books perhaps out 
of pity. There was something about this man that held him; 
he seemed somehow like a link of the unknown past. He com- 
pelled him to buy books that he did not want or need. 

" This is a fine spring morning," said old Humphrey, as he 

saw the portly form of Franklin enter the door. " I have been 

thinking of you much of late. I do not seem to be able to have 

put you out of my mind; and why should I, a fine gentleman 

15 213 



214 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

like you, and uncommonly civil. I have something that I 
have been allotting on showing you. It is very curious; it is a 
library of thirty-six volumes of pamphlets, and it minds me that 
a more interesting collection of pamphlets was never made. I 
read them myself in lonesome days when there is no trade. 
Let me show you one of the volumes." 

" No, never mind, my friend. I could not buy the whole 
library, however interesting it might be. I will look for some- 
thing smaller. This is a very old bookstore." 

" Ay, it is that. It has been kept here ever since the times 
of the Eestoration, and before. My wife's father used to keep 
it when he was an old man and I was a boy. And now I am 
an old man. I must show you one of those books or pam- 
phlets. They are all written over." 

Benjamin Franklin sat down on a stool in the light, and 
took up an odd volume of the Canterbury Tales. 

Old Humphrey lighted a candle and went into a dark recess. 
He presently returned, bringing one of the thirty-six volumes 
of pamphlets. 

" My American friend, if one liked old things, and the com- 
ments of one dead and gone, this library of pamphlets would 
be food for thought. Just look at this volume! " 

He struck the book against a shelf to remove the dust, 
and handed it to Franklin. 

The latter adjusted his spectacles to the light, and turned 
over the volume. 

" As you say," he said to old Humphrey, " it is all writ- 
ten over." 

" And uncommonly interesting comments they are. That 




A STRANGE DISCOVERY. 



A STRANGE DISCOVERY. 215 

library of pamphlets and comments, in my opinion, is as valu- 
able as Pepys's Diary. 

Old Humphrey had struck the right chord. In Pepys's 
Diary, which was kept for nine years during the gay and ex- 
citing period of the reign of Charles II, one lives, as it were, 
amid the old court scenes. 

Franklin turned over the leaves of the volume. " It is a 
curious book," said he. 

The light was poor, and he took the book to the door. 
Above the tall houses of the narrow street was a rift of sunny 
blue sky. 

" There is something in the handwriting that looks famil- 
iar," said he. " It seems as though I had seen that writing 
somewhere before. Where did you find these 'books? " 

" They came to me from my wife's father, who kept the 
storeway until he was nigh upon ninety years old. He set 
great store by these books, which led me to read them. 

" When Pepys's Diary was printed I was reminded of them, 
and read them over again, the comments and all. The person 
who made those notes had a very interesting mind. I think 
him to have been a philosopher." 

The ink on the margin of the volume was fading, and 
Franklin strained his eyes to read the comments. Suddenly 
he turned and came into the store and sat down. 

" Father Humphrey, bring me another volume." 

Father Humphrey lighted the candle again and went into 
the same dark and tomblike recess, and brought out two more 
volumes, striking them against the corners of shelves to remove 
from them the dust and mold. 



216 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

He noticed that his patron seemed overcome. Franklin 
was not an emotional man, but his lip quivered. 

"You think that the book is interesting?" 

He lifted his face and seemed lost in thought. 

" Ecton— Ecton— Ecton," he said. "Uncle Tom lived 
there — Uncle Tom, who started the subscription for the chime 
of bells." 

He had found the word " Ecton " in the pamphlets, and 
he again began to turn the leaves. 

" Squire Isted," he said, " Squire Isted," He had found 
the name of Squire Isted on one of the leaves. He had heard 
the name in his youth. 

" The World's End," he said. He stood up and turned 
round and round. 

" How queer he acts! " thought Father Humphrey. " I 
thought him a very calm man. What is it about the World's 
End?" he asked. 

" Oh, it is the name of an old tavern that I have found here. 
I had some great-uncles that used to have a farm and forge 
near an inn of that name. That was very long ago, before I 
was born. Old names seem to me like voices of the past." 

He put his spectacles to his eyes and held the book again 
up to the light. 

He presently said: "Luke Fuller — that is an old English 
name; there was such a one who was ousted for nonconformity 
in the days of the Conventicles." 

He turned round and lifted his face and stood still, like a 
statue. 

Was he going mad? Poor old Father Humphrey began to 



A STRANGE DISCOVERY. 2lY 

look toward the door to see if there were clear way of escape 
for him should the strange man become violent. 

Presently he said: 

" Earls — Barton/' and lifted his brows. 

Then he said: 

" Mears — Ashby," and lifted his brows higher. 

" What, sir, is it about Earls — Barton, and Mears — Ashby? " 
asked the timid Father Humphrey. 

" Oh, you are here. I've heard of these places before — it 
was many years ago. Some folks came over to America from 
there." 

He turned to the book again. " An Essay on the Tolera- 
tion Act," said he. " Banbury," he continued. He dropped 
the book by his side, and lifted his brows again. 

Poor Father Humphrey now thought that his customer 
had indeed gone daft, and was beginning to repeat an old 
nursery rhyme that that name suggested. 

The book went up to the light again. Old Humphrey, 
frightened, passed him and went to the door, so that he might 
run if his strange visitor should be incited to do him harm. 

Suddenly a very alarming expression came over the book- 
finder's face. What would he do next, this calm, grand old 
man, who was going out of his senses in this unfortunate 
place? 

He dropped the book by his side again, and said, as in the 
voice of another, a long-gone voice: 

" Eeuben of the Mill— Eeuben of the Mill! " 

Poor Father Humphrey thought he was summoning the 
ghost of some strange being from the recesses of the cellar. He 



218 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

began to walk away, when the supposed mind-shattered Amer- 
ican seemed to be returning to himself, and said in a very calm 
and dignified manner: 

" Father Humphrey, you must think that I have been act- 
ing strangely. There are some notes here that recall old names 
and places. They carried my thoughts away back to the 
past." 

The timid man came into the shop hopeful of a bargain. 

" It is a useful book, I should think," said Franklin, as if 
holding himself in restraint. 

He took the two other volumes that Father Humphrey had 
brought him and began to look them over. 

" Father Humphrey, what do you want for the whole library 
of the pamphlets?" 

" I do not exactly know what price to fix upon them. They 
might be valuable to an antiquarian some day, perhaps to some 
solicitor, or to a library. I would be glad to sell them to you, 
for somehow — and I speak out of my heart, and use no trade 
language — somehow I want you to buy them. Would five 
pounds be too much for the thirty volumes?" 

" No, no. There are but few that would want them or give 
them room. I will pay you five pounds for them. I will take 
one volume away, but for the present you shall keep the others 
for me." 

He left the store. It was a bright day. Happy faces 
passed him, but he saw them not. He walked, indeed, the 
streets of London, but it was the Boston of his childhood that 
was with him now. He wondered at what he had found — he 
wondered if there were mysterious influences behind life; for 



A STRANGE DISCOVERY. 219 

he was certain that these pamphlets were those that his god- 
father Uncle Benjamin had so valued as a part of himself, and 
that the notes on the margin of the leaves were in the hand- 
writing of the same kind-hearted man whose influence had so 
molded his young life. 

He went to his apartments, and sat down at his tahle and 
read the pamphlet and the notes. He found in the notes the 
very thoughts and the same expressions of thought that he had 
received from Uncle Benjamin in his childhood. 

What a life had been his, and how much he owed to this 
honest, pure-minded old man! 

He started up. 

" I must go back to Father Humphrey," he said, " and find 
of whom he obtained these books. If these are Uncle Benja- 
min's pamphlets, this is the strangest incident in all my life; 
it would look as though there was a finger of Providence in it. 
I must go back — I must go back." 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

OLD HUMPHKEY's STKANGE STORY. 

In his usual serene manner — for he very rarely became ex- 
cited, notwithstanding that his conduct and his absentminded- 
ness had surprised old Humphrey — Mr. Franklin made his way 
again to the bookstore in the alley. 

Old Humphrey welcomed him with — 

" Well, I am glad to see you again, my American patron^ 
Did you find the volume interesting? " 

" Yes, Father Humphrey, that was an interesting book, and 
there were some very curious comments in it. The notes on 
the Conventicles and the Toleration Act greatly interested me. 
The man who was the compiler of that book of pamphlets 
seems to have been a poet, and to have had relatives who were 
advocates of justice. I was struck by many wise comments 
that I found in it written in a peculiar hand. Father Hum- 
phrey, who do you suppose made those notes? Where did you 
find those pamphlets? How did they come to you? " 

" Well, that would be hard to say. Those volumes of 
])amphlets have been in the store many years, and I have often 
tried to find a purchaser for them. They must have come down 
from the times of the Restoration. T wouldn't wonder if they 

220 



OLD HUMPHREY'S STRANGE STORY. 221 

Avere as old as Cromwell's day. There is much about Ban- 
bury in them, and old Lord Halifax." 

" Old Lord Halifax! " said Franklin in surprise, walking 
about with a far-away look in his face again and his hands be- 
hind him. " I did not find that name in the volume that I took 
home. I had an uncle who received favors from old Lord 
Halifax." 

" You did, hey? Where did he live? " 

" In Ecton, or in Nottingham." 

" Now, that is curious. It may be that he made the library 
of pamphlets." 

" No, no; if he had, he would never have sold them. He 
was a well-to-do man. But you have not answered my ques- 
tions as to how the library of pamphlets came to you." 

" I can't. I found them here when I took charge of the 
store. My wife's father, as I said, used to keep the store. He 
died suddenly in old age, and left the store to my wife. He 
had made a better living than I out of my business. So I took 
the store. I found the books here. I do not know where my 
father-in-law obtained them. It was his business to buy rare 
books, and then find a way to some antiquarian of means who 
might want them. The owner's name was not left in these 
books. I have looked for it many times. But there are names 
of Nottingham people there, and when old Lord Halifax used 
to visit London I tried to interest him in them, but he did not 
care to buy them." 

" Father Humphrey, what was your wife's father's 
name?" 

" His name was Axel, sir. He was a good man, sir. He 



222 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

attended the conventicles, sir, and became a Brownite, sir, 
and " 

Was the American gentleman going daft again? 

He stopped at the name of Axel, and lifted his brows. He 
turned around, and bowed over with a look of intense interest. 
■ " Did you say Axel, Father Humphrey ? " 

" Axel, your honor. Axel. I once heard him say that sev- 
eral of these pamphlets were suppressed after the Eestoration, 
and that they were rare and valuable. I heard him say that 
they would be useful to a historian, sir." 

" I will pay you for the books, and you may hold them in 
trust for me. They will be sent for some day, or it may be that 
I will call for them myself. My uncle owned those books. It 
would have been the dearest thing of his life could the old man 
have seen what has now happened. Father Humphrey, one's 
heart's desires bring about strange things. They shape events 
after a man is dead. It seems to me as though I had been di- 
rected here. Father Humphrey, what do you think of such 
things? " 

'^ Well, I don't know. From the time that I first saw you 
my mind was turned to the pamphlets. I don't know why. 
Perhaps the owner's thought, or desires, or prayers led me. 
It is all very strange." 

" Yes, it is very strange," said Franklin, again walking to 
and fro with his hands behind him. " I wish that all good 
men's works could be fulfilled in this way." 

" How do you know that they are not? " 

" Let us hope that they are." 

" This is all very strange." 



OLD HUMPHREY'S STRANGE STORY. 223 

" Very strange, very strange. It is the greatest of bless- 
ings in life to have had good ancestors. Uncle Ben was a 
good old man. I owe much to him, and now I seem to have 
met with him again — Uncle Benjamin, my father's favorite 
brother, who used to carry me sailing and made the boat a 
schoolroom for me in the harbor of Boston town." 

He added to himself in an absent way: " Samuel Franklin 
and I have promised to live so as to honor the character of this 
old man. I have a great task before me, and I can not tell 
what the issue will be, but I will hold these pamphlets and 
keep them until I can look into Samuel's face and say, ' Eng- 
land has done justice to America, and your father's influence 
has advanced the cause of human rights in the world.' " 

Would that day ever come? 

He went to Ecton, in Nottinghamshire, with his son, 
and there heard the chimes in the steeple that had been 
placed there by Thomas Franklin's influence. He visited 
the graves of his ancestors and the homes of many poor 
people who bore the Franklin name. He found three let- 
ters that his Uncle Benjamin had written home. He read in 
them the names of himself and Jenny. How his heart must 
have turned home on that visit! A biographer of Franklin 
tells his story in a beautiful simplicity that leaves no call for 
fictitious enlargement. He says: "Franklin discovered a 
cousin, a happy and venerable old maid; 'a good, clever 
woman,' he wrote, ' but poor, though vastly contented with her 
situation, and very cheerful ' — a genuine Franklin, evidently. 
She gave him some of his Uncle Benjamin's old letters to read, 
with their pious rhymings and acrostics, in which occurred 



224 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

allusions to himself and his sister Jane when thev were children. 
Continuing their journey, father and son reached Ecton, where 
so many Successive Franklins had plied the blacksmith's ham- 
mer. They found that the farm of thirty acres had been sold 
to strangers. The old stone cottage of their ancestors was used 
for a school, but was still called the Franklin House. Many 
relations and connections they hunted up, most of them old and 
poor, but endowed with the inestimable Franklinian gift of 
making the best of their lot. They copied tombstones; they 
examined the parish register; they heard the chime of bells 
play which Uncle Thomas had caused to be purchased for the 
quaint old Ecton church seventy years before; and examined 
other evidences of his worth and public spirit." 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE EAGLE THAT CAUGHT THE CAT. — DK. FRANKLIN's ENGLISH 
FABLE. — THE DOCTOR'S SQUIRRELS. 

When Dr. Franklin was abroad the first time after the mis- 
adventure with Governor Keith, and was an agent of the col- 
onies, his fame as a scientist gave him a place in the highest 
intellectual circles of England, and among his friends were sev- 
eral clergymen of the English Church and certain noblemen 
of eminent force and character. 

When in 1775, while he was again the colonial agent, the 
events in America became exciting, his position as the repre- 
sentative American in England compelled him to face the ris- 
ing tide against his country. He was now sixty-nine years of 
age. He was personally popular, although the king came to 
regard him with disfavor, and once called him that " insidious 
man." But he never failed, at any cost of personal reputation, 
to defend the American cause. 

His good humor never forsook him, and the droll, quaint 
wisdom that had appeared in Poor Eichard was turned to 
good account in the advocacy of the rights of the American 
colonies. 

One evening he dined at the house of a nobleman. It was 
in the year of the Concord fight, when political events in Amer- 

225 



226 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

ica were hurrying and were exciting all minds in botli coun- 
tries. 

They talked of literature at the party, but the political 
situation was uppermost in the minds of all. 

A gentleman was present whose literary mind made him 
very interesting to such circles. 

" The art of the illustration of the principles of life in 
fable," he said, "is exhausted, ^sop, La Fontaine, Gay, and 
others have left nothing further to be produced in parable 
teaching." 

The view was entertaining. He added: 

" There is not left a bird, animal, or fish that could be 
made the subject of any original fable." 

Dr. Franklin seemed to be very thoughtful for a time. 

" What is your opinion, doctor? " asked the literary gentle- 
man. 

" You are wrong, sir. The opportunity to produce 
fsbles is limitless. Almost every event ofEers the fabric of a 
fable." 

" Could you write a fable on any of the events of the pres- 
ent time? " asked the lord curiously. 

" If you will order pen and ink and paper, 1 will give you 
a picture of the times in fable. A fable comes to me now." 

The lord ordered the writing material. 

What new animals or birds had taken possession of Frank- 
lin's fancy? No new animals or birds, but old ones in new 
relations. 

Franklin wrote out his fable and proceeded to read it. It 
was a short one, but the effect was direct and surprising. The 



DE. FRANKLIN'S ENGLISH FABLE. 227 



lord's face must have changed when he Hstened to it;, for it 
was a time when such things struck to the heart. 

The fable not only showed Dr. Franklin's invention, but 
his courage. It was as follows: " Once upon a time an eagle, 
scaling round a farmer's bam and espying a hare, darted down 
upon him like a sunbeam, seized him in his claws, and re- 
mounted with him to the air. He soon found that he had a 
creature of more courage and strength than a hare, for which, 
notwithstanding the keenness of his eyesight, he had mistaken 
a cat. 

" The snarling and scrambling of his prey were very incon- 
venient, and, what was worse, she had disengaged herself from 
his talons, grasped his body with her four limbs, so as to 
stop his breath, and seized fast hold of his throat with her 
teeth. 

" ' Pray,' said the eagle, ' let go your hold, and I will re- 
lease you.' 

" ' Very fine,' said the cat; '1 have no fancy to fall from 
this height and be crushed to death. You have taken me up, 
and you shall stoop and let me down.' The eagle thought it 
necessary to stoop accordingly." 

The eagle, of course, represented England, and the cat 
America. 

Dr. Franklin was a lover of little children and animals — 
among pet animals, of the American squirrel. 

When he returned to England the second time as an agent 
of the colonies, he wished to make some presents to his Eng- 
lish friends who had families. 

He liked not only to please children, but to give them those 



228 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

things which would delight them. So he took over to Eng- 
land for presents a cage full of pranky little squirrels. 

Among the families of children whom he loved was Dr. 
Shipley's, the bishop, who had a delightful little daughter, 
and to her the great Dr. Franklin, who was believed to com- 
mand the visible heavens, made a present of a cunning Amer- 
ican squirrel. 

The girl came to love the pet. It was a truly American 
squirrel; it sought liberty, Franklin called it Mungo. 

The girl seems to have given the little creature his will, 
and let him sometimes go free among the oaks and hedgerows 
of the fair, green land. But one day it was caught by a dog 
or cat, or some other animal, and killed. His liberty proved 
his ruin. Poor Mungo! 

There was sorrow in the bishop's home over the loss of the 
pet, and the poor little girl sought consolation from the phi- 
losopher. 

But, philosoj)her that he was, he could not recall to life 
the little martyr to liberty. So he did about all that can be 
done in like cases: he wrote for her an epitaph for her pet, set- 
ting forth its misfortunes, and giving it a charitable history, 
which must have been very consoling. He did not indulge in 
any frivolous rhymes, but used the stately rhythms that befit 
a very solemn event. 

There is a perfect picture of the mother heart of Franklin 
in this little story. The world has ever asked why this man 
was so liked. The answer may be read here: A sympathy, 
guided by principle, that often found expression in humor. 

As in the case of good old Sam Adams, the children followed 



DR. FRANKLIN'S ENGLISH FABLE. 229 

him. Blessed are those whom mothers and children love. It 
is the heart that has power. A touch of sympathy outlives 
tales of achievements of power, as in the story of Ulysses's dog. 
It is he who sympathizes the most with mankind that longest 
lives in human affections. 

A man's character may be known by the poet that the man 
seeks as his interpreter. Franklin's favorite poet as he grew 
old was Cowper. In all his duties of life he never lost that 
heart charm, the grandfather charm; it was active now when 
children still made his old age happy. 

How queerly he must have looked in England with his cage 
of little squirrels and the children following him in some good 
bishop's garden! 



16 



CHAPTEE XXXIII. 

OLD ME. CALAMITY AGAIN. 

Feanklin's paper, the Pennsylvania Gazette, which ap- 
peared in the year 1739, at first published by Franklin and 
Meredith, and always very neatly printed, had grown, and its 
income became large. It did much of the thinking for the 
province. But Franklin made it what it was by his energy, 
perseverance, and faith. He returned to America, and the 
paper voiced his opinions. 

In the period of his early struggle, he was wheeling some 
printing paper in a wheelbarrow along the streets toward his 
office when he heard the tap, tap, tap of an old man's cane. 

He looked around. It was the cane of old Mr. Calamity. 
This man had advised him not to begin publishing. 

" Young man " 



" Good morning, sir. I hope it finds you well." 

" It must be hard times when an editor has to carrv his 
printing paper in a wheelbarrow." 

" The oracle said, * Leave no stone unturned if you would 
find success.' " 

" Well, my young friend, if there is anybody that obeys the 
oracle in Pennsylvania it is you. You dress plainly; you do 

230 



OLD MR. CALAMITY AGAIN. 231 

not indulge in many luxuries; you attend the societies and clubs 
that seek information; you ought to succeed, but you won't." 

The old man lifted his cane and brought it down on the 
flagging stones with a pump, 

" You won't, now ! " 

He stood still for a moment to add to the impression of his 
words. 

"What is this I hear? The province is about to issue pa- 
per money? What did I tell you long ago? This is an age of 
rags. Paper money is rags. Governor Keith's affairs have 
all gone to ruin; it is unfortunate that he went away. And 
you are going to print the paper money for the province, are 
you? Listen to me: in a few years it will not be worth the 
paper it is printed on, and you will be glad to follow the ex- 
ample of Governor Keith, and get out of Philadelphia. The 
times are hard, but they are going to be harder. What hope 
is there for such a man as you ? " 

Franklin set down his wheelbarrow. 

" My good sir, I am doing honest work. It will tell — I have 
confidence that it will tell." 

"Tell! Tell who?" 

" The world." 

" The world! The owls have not yet ceased to hoot in 
woods around Philadelphia, and he has a small world that is 
bounded by the hoot of an owl." 

" My father used to say that he who is diligent in his busi- 
ness shall stand before kings," quoting the Scripture. 

" Well, you may be as honest and as diligent in your busi- 
ness as you will, it is a small chance that you will ever have 



232 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

of standing before kings. What are you standing before now ? — 
a wheelbarrow. That is as far as you have got. A promising 
young man it must be to stand before a wheelbarrow and talk 
about standing before kings! " 

" But, sir, I ought not to be standing before a wheelbarrow. 
I ought to be going on and coining time." 

" Well, go right along; you are on the way to Poverty Cor- 
ner, and you will not need any guide post to find it; take up 
the handles of the wheelbarrow and go right on. Maybe the 
king will send a coach for you some day." 

He did — more than one king did. 

Franklin took the handles of the wheelbarrow, wondering 
which was the true prophet, his father's Scripture or cautious 
old Mr. Calamity. As he went on he heard the tap, tap, tap 
of the cane behind him, and a low laugh at times and the word 
" kings." 

He came to the office, and taking a huge bundle of printing 
paper on his shoulder went in. The cane passed, tap, tap, tap- 
ping. It had an ominous sound. But after the tap, tap, tap 
of the cane had gone, Franklin could still hear his old father's 
words in his spiritual memory, and he believed that they were 
true. 

We must continue the story of Mr. Calamity, so as to pic- 
ture events from a Tory point of view. The incident of the 
wheelbarrow would long cause him to reproach the name of 
Franklin. 

The Pennsylvania Gazette not only grew and became a 
source of large revenue, so that Franklin had no more need 
to wheel to his office printing paper with his own hands, but 



OLD MR. CALAMITY AGAIN. 233 

it crowned with honor the work of which he was never ashamed. 
The printing of the paper money of the province added to his 
name, the success that multiplies success began its rounds with 
the years, and middle life found him a rich man, and his late 
return from England a man with the lever of power that molds 
opinion. 

Poor old Mr. Calamity must have viewed this growth and 
prosperity with eyes askance. His cane tapped more rapidly 
yearly as it passed the great newspaper office, notwithstanding 
that it bore more and more the weight of years. 

Benjamin Franklin was a magnanimous man. He never 
wasted time in seeking the injury of any who ridiculed and be- 
littled him. He had the largest charity for the mistakes in 
judgment that men make, and the opportunities of life were 
too precious for him to waste any time in beating the air where 
nothing was to be gained. Help the man who some time sought 
to injure you, and the day may come when he will help you, 
and such Peter-like experiences are among life's richest har- 
vests. The true friendship gained by forgiveness has a breadth 
and depth of life that bring one of the highest joys of heaven 
to the soul. 

" I will study many things, for I must be proficient in 
something," said the poet Longfellow when young. Franklin 
studied everything — languages, literature, science, and art. 
His middle life was filled with studies; all life to him was a 
schoolroom. His studies in middle life bore fruit after he was 
threescore and ten years of age. They helped to make his pa- 
per powerful. 

Franklin's success greatly troubled poor old Mr. Calamity. 



234 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

After the printer made the great discovery that electricity was 
lightning, the old man opposed the use of lightning-rods. 

"What will that man Franklin do next?" he said. "He 
would oppose the Lord of the heavens from thundering and 
lightning — he would defy Providence and Omnipotent Power. 
Why, the next thing he may deny the authority of King George 
himself, who is divinely appointed. He is a dangerous man, the 
most dangerous man in all the colony." 

Old jVIr. Calamity warned the people against the innova- 
tions of this dangerous man. 

One day, as he was resting under the great trees on the 
Schuylkill, there was brought to him grievous news. A clerk 
in the Pennsylvania Assembly came up to him and asked: 

"Do you know what has been doile? The Assembly has 
appointed Franklin as agent to London; he is to go as the agent 
of all the colonies." 

" Sho! What do tlie colonies want of an agent in Lon- 
don? Don't the king know how to govern his colonies? 
And if we need an agent abroad, why should we send a printer 
and a lightning-rod man? Clerk, sit down! • That man Frank- 
lin is a dangerous leader. ' An agent of the colonies in Lon- 
don! ' Why, I have seen him carrying printing paper in a 
wheelbarrow. A curious man that to send to the court of 
England's sovereign, whose arms are the lion and the uni- 
corn." 

" But there is a movement in England to tax the colonies." 

" And why shouldn't there be? If the king thinks it is ad- 
visable to tax the colonies for their own support, why should 
not his ministers be instructed to do so? The king is a power 



OLD MR. CALAMITY AGAIN. 235 

divinely ordained; the king can do no wrong. We ought to 
be willing to be taxed by such a virtuous and gracious sover- 
eign. Taxation is a blessing; it makes us realize our privileges. 
Oh, that Franklin! that Franklin! there is something peculiar- 
some about him; but the end of that man is to fall. First 
carrying about printing paper in a wheelbarrow, then trifling 
with the lightning in a thunderstorm, and now going to the 
court of England as a representative of the colonies. The 
world never saw such an amazing spectacle as that in all its his- 
tory. Do you know what the king may yet be compelled to do? 
He may yet have to punish his American colonies. Clouds are 
gathering — I can see. Well, let Franklin go, and take his 
wheelbarrow with him! What times these are! " 

Franklin was sent to England again greatly to the discom- 
fort of Mr. Calamity. 

The English Parliament passed an act called the Stamp 
Act, taxing the colonies by placing a stamp on all paper to be 
used in legal transactions. It was passed against the consent 
of the colonies, who were allowed to have no representatives 
in the foreign government, and the measure filled the colonies 
with indignation. There were not many in America like Mr. 
Calamity who believed the doctrine that the king could do 
no wrong. King George III approved of the Stamp Act, not 
only as a means of revenue, but as an assertion of royal au- 
thority. 

The colonies were opposed to the use of the stamped paper. 
Were they to submit to be governed by the will of a foreign 
power without any voice in the measures of the government 
imposed upon them? Were their lives and property at the 



23G TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

command of a despotism, without any source of appeal to jus- 
tice? 

The indignation grew. The spirit of resistance to the 
arbitrary act of tyranny was everywhere to be met and 
seen. 

From the time of his arrival in London, in 176-i, at the age 
of fifty-nine, Franklin gave all his energies for a long time 
to opposing the Stamp Act, and, after it had passed, to secur- 
ing its repeal. He was, as it were, America in London. 

The Stamp Act, largely through his influence, was at last 
repealed, and joy filled America. Processions were formed in 
honor of the king, and bonfires blazed on the hills. In Boston 
the debtors were set free from jail, that all might unite in the 
jubilee. 

Franklin's name filled the air. 

Old Mr. Calamity heard of it amid the ringing of bells. 

" Franklin, Franklin," he said on the occasion, turning 
around in vexation and taking a pinch of snufl', " why, I have 
seen him carrying printing paper in a wheelbarrow! " 

Philadelphia had a day of jubilee in honor of the repeal 
of the Stamp Act, and Mr. Calamity with cane and snuffbox 
wandered out to see the sights. The streets were in holiday 
attire, bells were ringing, and here and there a shout for Frank- 
lin went up from an exulting crowd. As often as the prudent 
old gentleman heard that name he turned around, pounding 
his cane and taking a pinch of snuff. 

He went down to a favorite grove on the banks of the 
Schuylkill. He found it spread with tables and hung with 
banners. 



OLD MR. CALAMITY AGAIN. 237 

" Sir/' he said to a local officer, " is there to he a hanquet 
here?" 

" Yes, your Honor, the hanquet is to he here. Have you 
not heard? " 

" What is the banquet to he for? " 

" In honor of Franklin, sir." 

Mr. Calamity turned round on his cane and took out his 
snuffbox. 

There was an outburst of music, a great shout, and a hur- 
rying of people toward the green grove. 

Something loomed in air. 

The old gentleman, putting his hand over his eye as a shade, 
looked up in great surprise. 

"What— what is that?" 

What indeed! 

"A boat sailing in the air?" He added, "Franklin must 
have invented that! " ' 

" No," said the official, " that is the great barge." 

"What is it for?" 

" It will exhibit itself shortly," said the official. 

It came on, covered with banners that waved in the river 
winds. 

The old man read the inscription upon it — " Franldin." 

" I told you so," he said. 

" It will thunder soon," said the official. " Don't you see 
it is armed with guns? " 

The barge stopped at the entrance of the grove. A dis- 
charge of cannon followed from the boat, which was forty 
feet long. A great shout followed the salute. The whole 



238 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

city seemed cheering. The name that filled the air was 
''Franklin." 

Mr. Calamity turned around and around, planting his cane 
down in a manner that left a circle, and then taking out of his 
pocket his snuffbox. 

He saw a boy cheering. 

" Boy! " 

" Sir? " 

"• What are you shouting for? " 

" For the Stamp Act, sir! " 

" That is right, my boy." 

"No, for Franklin!" 

" For Franklin ? Why, I have seen him carrying a lot of 
printing paper through the streets in a wheelbarrow! May 
time be gracious to me, so that I may see him hanged! Boy, 
see here " 

But the banners were moving into the green grove, and the 
boy had gone after them. 

Benjamin Franklin returned to Philadelphia the most popu- 
lar man in the colonies, and was elected a delegate to the Con- 
tinental Congress. 

" Only Heaven can save us now," said troubled Mr. Calam- 
ity. " There's treason in the air! " 

The old gentleman was not a bad man; he saw life on the 
side of shadow, and had become blind to the sunny side of life. 
He was one of those natures that are never able to come out of 
the past. 

The people amid the rising prosperity ceased to believe in 
old Mr. Calamity as a prophet. He felt this loss of faith in 



OLD MR. CALAMITY AGAIN. 239 

hi-m. He assumed the character of the silent wise man at 
times. He would pass people whom he had warned of the 
coming doom, shaking his head, and then turning around would 
strike his cane heavily on the pavement, which would cause the 
one he had left behind to look back. He would then lift his 
cane as though it were the rod of a magician. 

" Old Mr. Calamity is coming," said a Philadelphia school- 
boy to another, one new school day in autumn. " See, he 
is watching Franklin, and is trying to avoid meeting him." 

Their teacher came along the street. 

"Why, bo3'S, are you watching the old gentleman?" 

'• He is trying to avoid meeting Mr. Franklin, sir." 

" Calamity comes to avoid Industry," said the teacher, as he 
saw the two men. Franklin was the picture of thrift, and his 
very gait was full of purpose and energy. I speak in parable," 
said the teacher, " but that old gentleman is always in a state 
of alarm, and he seems to find satisfaction in predicting evil, 
and especially of Mr. Franklin. The time was when the young 
printer avoided him — he was startled, I fancy, whenever he 
heard the cane on the pavement; he must have felt the force 
of the suggestion that Calamity was after him. Now he has 
become prosperous, and the condition is changed. Calamity 
flees from him. See, my boys, the two men." 

They stopped on the street. 

Mr. Calamity passed them on the opposite side, and Mr. 
Franklin came after him, walking briskly. The latter stopped 
at the door of his office, but the old gentleman hurried on. 
When he reached the corner of the street he planted his cane 
down on the pavement and looked around. He saw the popu- 



240 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

lar printer standing before liis office door on the street. The 
two looked at each other. The old man evidently felt uncom- 
fortable. He turned the corner, out of sight, when an extraor- 
dinary movement appeared. 

Mr. Calamity reached back his long, ruffled arm, and his 
cane, in view of the philosopher, the teacher, and the boys, 
and shook the cane mysteriously as though he were writing in 
the air. He may have had in mind some figure of the ancient 
prophets. Up and down went the cane, around and around, 
with curves of awful import. It looked to those on the street 
he had left as though the sharp angle of the house on the cor- 
ner had suddenly struck out a living arm in silent warning. 

The arm and cane disappeared. A head in a wide-rimmed 
hat looked around the angle as if to see the effect of the writ- 
ing in the air. Then the arm and cane appeared again as 
before. It was like the last remnant of a cloud when the body 
has passed. » 

The teacher saw the meaning of the movement. 

" Boys," said he, " if you should ever be pursued by Mr. 
Calamity in any form, remember the arm and cane. See 
Franklin laugh! Industry in the end laughs at Calamity, and 
Diligence makes the men who ' stand before kings.' It is the 
law of life. Detraction is powerless before will and work, and 
as a rule whatever any one dreams that he may do, he will do." 

The boys had received an object lesson, and would long 
carry in their minds the picture of the mysterious arm and cane. 

In a right intention one is master of the ideal of life. If 
circumstances favor, he becomes conscious that life is no longer 
master of him, but that he is the master of life. This sense of 



OLD MR. CALAMITY AGAIN. 24:1 

power and freedom is noble; in vain does the shadow of 
Calamity intrude upon it; the visions of youth become a part 
of creations of the world; the dream of the architect is a man- 
sion now; of the scientist, a road, a railway over rivers and 
mountains; of the orator and poet, thoughts that live. Even 
the young gardner finds his dreams projected into his farm. So 
ideals become realities, and thoughts become seeds that multi- 
ply. Mr. Calamity may shake his cane, but it will be behind a 
corner. Happy is he who makes facts of his thoughts that were 
true to life! 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 



OLD MR. CALAMITY AND THE TEARING DOWN OF THE KING'S 

ARMS. 



Our gentlemanly friend Mr. Calamity was now very, very 
old, long past the milestone of eighty. As Philadelphia 
grew, the streets lengthening, the fine houses rising higher 
and higher, he hegan to doubt that he was a prophet, and 
he shunned Benjamin Franklin when the latter was in the 
country. 

One day, long before the Stamp Act, he passed the Gazette 
office, when the prosperous editor appeared. 

" It's coming," said he, tap, tapping on. " "What did I tell 
you? " 

"What is coming? " asked our vigorous king of prosperity. 

" "War! " He became greatly excited. " Indians! they're 
coming with the tommyhawk and scalping knife, and we'll need 
to be thankful if they leave us our heads." 

There were indeed Indian troubles and dire events at that 
time, but not near Philadelphia. 

Time ])assod. He was a Tory, and he heard of Concord and 
Lexington, and he ceased to read the paper that Franklin 
printed, and his cane flew scatteringly as it passed the office 
door. To him that door was treason. 

242 



THE TEARING DOWN OF THE KING'S ARMS. 243 

One evening he lifted his cane as he was passing. 

" The king will take the puny colonies in his mighty arms 
and dash them against the high rock of the sea. lie will 
dash them in pieces ' like a potter's vessel.' What are we to 
the throne of England! " 

He heard of Bunker Hill, and his old heart beat free 
again. 

" What did I tell you? " he said. " King George took the 
rebels in his arms and beat them against Bunker Hill. He'll 
plant his mighty heel on Philadelphia some day, and may it 
fall on the head of Benjamin Franklin, for of all rebels he is 
the most dangerous. Oh, that Franklin! He is now advo- 
cating the independence of the colonies! " 

The Provincial Congress began to assemble, and cavalcades 
went out to meet the members as they approached the city on 
horseback. The Virginia delegation were so escorted into the 
city with triumph. The delegates were now assembling to de- 
clare the colony free. Independence was in the air. 

Terrible days were these to Mr. Calamity. As often as he 
heard the word " independence " on the street his cane would fly 
up, and after this spasm his snuffbox would come out of his 
pocket for refreshment. His snuffbox was silver, and on it 
in gold were the king's arms. 

He was a generous man despite his fears. He was particu- 
larly generous with his snuff. He liked to pass it around on 
the street, for he thereby displayed the king's arms on his snuff- 
box. 

When the Massachusetts delegates came, the city was filled 
with joy. But Samuel Adams was the soul of the movement 



244 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

for independence, and after his arrival independence was 
more and more discussed, which kept poor old Mr. Calamity's 
cane continually flying. But his feelings were terribly wounded 
daily by another event of common occurrence. As he passed 
the snuffbox to the Continentals he met, and showed the royal 
arms upon it, they turned away from him; they would not take 
snuff from the royal snuffbox. These were ominous times 
indeed. 

The province of Pennsylvania had decreed that no one 
should hold any office derived from the authority of the king. 
For a considerable period there was no government in Pennsyl- 
vania, no authority to punish a crime or collect a debt, but all 
things went on orderly, peacefully, and well. 

Old Mr. Calamity used to sit under the great elm tree at 
Shakamaxon in the long summer days and extend his silver 
snuffbox to people as they passed. The tree was full of sing- 
ing birds; flowers bloomed by the way, and the river was 
bright; but to him the glory of the world had fled, for the 
people no longer would take snuff from the box with the royal 
arms. 

One day a lady passed who belonged to the days of the 
Penns and the Proprietors. 

" Madam Bond," said he, " comfort me." 

A patriot passed. The old man held out the snuffbox. 
The man hesitated and started back. 

" The royal arms will have to go," said the patriot. 

"Where from?" said the old man excited. 

" From everywhere. We are about to decree a new world." 

" They will never take these golden arms from that snuff- 



THE TEARING DOWN OF THE KING'S ARMS. 2-i5 

box. Sir, do you know that box was given to the Proprietor 
by Queen Charlotte herself?" 

" Well, the golden arms will have to come off it; they will 
have to come down everywhere. No — I thank you," he con- 
tinued. " I can not ever take snuff again out of a snuffbox 
like that." 

Poor old Mr. Calamity turned to the lady. 

" What am I to do? Where am I to go? You do pity me, 
don't you? " 

A little girl passed near. He held out the box. The girl 
ran. The poor old man began to tremble. 

" I have trembling fits sometimes," said he. " Take a pinch 
of snuff with me; it will steady me. Take a pinch of snuff for 
Queen Charlotte's sake." 

He shook like the leaves of the elm tree in the summer 
wind. 

Dame Bond hesitated. 

He trembled more violently. " Do you hesitate to honor 
the name of Queen Charlotte ? " he said. 

The woman took a pinch of snuff in memory of the days 
gone. He grew calmer. 

" That strengthens me," he said. " What am I to do? The 

things that I see daily tear me all to pieces. It broke my heart 

to see that child run away. I can not cross the sea, and if they 

were to tear down the king's arms from the State House I 

would die. I would tremble until I grew cold and my breath 

left me. You do pity me, don't you? I sometimes grow cold 

now when I tremble." 

It was June. A bugle rang out in the street. 
17 



246 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

"What is that? " he asked of a volunteer who passed hy. 

" It is the summons," 

"For what?" 

" For the assembling of the people." 

" In God's name, for what? Is a royal messenger com- 
ing? " 

" No. They are going to tear down the king's arms from 
all the buildings at six, and are going to pile them up on tar 
barrels and make a bonfire of them when the sun goes down. 
The flame will ascend to heaven. That will be the end of the 
reign of King George III in this province forever! " 

The old man trembled agtin. 

" I am cold," he said. — " Dame Bond, take another pinch 
of snuff out of the silver box with the golden arms — it helps 
me." 

Dame Bond once more paid her respects to Queen Char- 
lotte. 

" Before God, you do not tell me, sir, that they are going 
to take down the king's arms from the State House? " 

" The king's arms are to be torn down from all the build- 
ings, my aged friend; from the inns, the shops, the houses, the 
State House, and all." 

" Dame Bond, my limbs fail. I shall never go home again. 
Tell the family as you pass that I shall not return to tea with 
them. Let me pass the evening here, where Penn made his 
treaty with the Indians. To-night is the last of Pennsylvania. 
I never wish to see another morning." 

At seven o'clock in the long, fiery day the great bell 
rang. The bugle sounded again. People ran hither and 




The destruction of the royal arms. 



THE TEARING DOWN OF THE KING'S ARMS. 247 

thither. A rocket flared across the sky, and a great cry- 
went up: 

"Down with the arms!" 

A procession headed with soldiers passed through the streets 
of the city bearing with them a glittering sign. Military mu- 
sic filled the air. 

The old ;nan's daughter Mercy came to see him under the 
tree and to persuade him to go home with her. 

"Mercy — daughter — what are they carrying away?" 

" The king's arms from the State House; that is all, 
father." 

" All! all! Say you rather that it is the world! " 

The roseate light faded from the high hills and the waters. 
The sea birds screamed, and cool breezes made the multitudi- 
nous leaves of the tree to quiver. 

"Mercy — daughter — and what was that?" 

" They are lighting a bonfire, father." 

"What for?" 

" To burn the king's arms." 

"What will we do without a king?" 

" They will have a Congress." 

A great shout went up on a near hill. 

"But, Mercy — daughter — a Congress is men. A Congress 
is not a power ordained. Oh, that I should ever live to see a 
day like this! 'Twas Franklin did it. I can see it all — it was 
he; it was the printer boy from Boston." 

Darkness fell. It was nine o'clock now. There was a dis- 
charge of firearms, and a great flame mounted up from the pile 
on the hill, and put out the stars and filled the heavens. 



248 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Father, let us go home." 

" No, let me stay here under the tree." 

"Why, father?" 

" The palsy is coming upon me — I can feel it coming, and 
here I would die." 

" Oh, father, return with me, for my sake! " 

" Well, help me, then." 

She lifted him, and they went back slowly to the street. 

The city wag deserted. The people were out to the hill. 
There was a crackling of dry boards in the bonfire, and the 
flame grew redder and redder, higher and higher. 

They came to the State House. The old man looked up. 
The face of the house was bare; the king's arms were gone. 

He sank down on the step of an empty house and began 
to tremble. He took out his silver snuffbox and held it 
shaking. 

" For Queen Charlotte's sake, daughter," he said. 

She touched the box, to please him. 

" Gone," he said; " the king's arms are gone, and I have no 
wish to survive them. I feel the chill coming on — 'tis the last 
time. Take the silver box, daughter ; for my sake hide it, and 
always be true to the king's arms upon it. As for me, I shall 
never see the morning! " 

He lay there in the moonlight, his eyes fixed on the State 
House where the king's arms had been. 

The people came shouting back, bearing torches that were 
going out. Houses were being illuminated. 

He ceased to tremble. They sent for a medical man and 
for his near kin. These people were among the multitude. 



THE TEARING DOWN OF THE KING'S ARMS. 249 

They came late and found him lying in the moonlight white 
and cold. 

The bells are ringing. Independence is declared. The 
king's rule in the province is gone forever. Benjamin Frank- 
lin's name commands the respect of lovers of liberty through- 
out the world. He is fulfilling the vision of Uncle Benjamin, 
the poet. He has added virtue to virtue, intelligence to intelli- 
gence, benevolence to benevolence, faith to faith. So the 
ladder of success ascends. Like his great-uncle Tom, his influ- 
ence has caused the bells to ring; it will do so again. 

Franklin heard of his great popularity in America while 
in England. 

" Now I will call for the pamphlets," he said. He again 
walked alone in his room. He faced the future. " Not yet, 
not yet," he added, referring to the pamphlets. " The strug- 
gle for liberty has only begun. I will order the pamphlets 
when the colonies are free. The hopes in them will then be 
fulfilled, and not until then." 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

JENNY AGAIN. 

Franklin was suddenly recalled to America. 

He stood at Samuel Franklin's door. 

Samuel Franklin was an old man now. 

" I have come to Boston once more," said Benjamin Frank- 
lin. " I would go to my parents' graves and the grave of 
Uncle Ben. But they are in the enemy's camp now. Samuel, 
I found your father's pamphlets in London." 

" Is it possible ? Where are they now ? " 

" I will return them to you when the colonies shall be free. 
The reading of them shall be a holiday in our old lives." 

" I may never live to see that day. Benjamin, I am an old 
man. I want that you should will those pamphlets to my 
family." 

The old men went out and stood by the gate late in the 
evening. . The moon was rising over the harbor; it was a 
warm, still night. Sentries were pacing to and fro, for Boston 
was surrounded by sixteen thousand hostile men in arms. 

The nine o'clock bell rang. 

" I must go back to the camp," said Franklin, for he had 
met Samuel within the American lines. 

250 



JENNY AGAIN. 251 

" Cousin Benjamin, these are perilous times," said Samuel. 
" Justice is what the world needs. Make those pamphlets live, 
and return them with father's name honored in yours to my 
family." 

" I will do so or perish. I am in dead earnest." 

He ascended the hill and looked down on the British camps 
in Boston town. 

Franklin had been sent to Cambridge as a commissioner 
to Washington's army at this time. It was October, 1775. 

He longed to see his sister Jane — " Jenny " — once more. 
His sister was now past sixty years of age. Foreseeing the 
siege of Boston, he had written to her to come to Philadelphia 
and to make her home with him. But she was unwilling to 
remove from her own city and old home, though she was forced 
to find shelter within the lines of the American army. 

One night, after her removal from Boston, there came a 
gentle knock at the door of her room. She opened it guard- 
edly, and looked earnestly into the face of the stranger. 

"Jenny!" 

"My own brother! — do I indeed see you alive? Let me 
put my hand into yours once more." 

He drew her to him. 

" Jenny, I have longed for this hour." 

"But what brings you here at this time? You did not 
come wholly to see me? Sit down, and let us bring up all the 
past again." 

He sat down beside her, holding her hand. 

" Jenny, you ask what brings me here. Do you remember 
Uncle Ben?" 



252 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Whose name you bear ? Never shall I forget him. The 
memory of a great man grows as years increase." 

" Jenny, I've heard the bells in Ecton ring, and I found in 
Nottinghamshire letters from Uncle Benjamin, and they coup- 
led your name when you was a girl with mine when I was a 
boy; do you remember what he said to us on that showery 
summer day when all the birds were singing? " 

" Yes, Ben — I must call you ' Ben ' — he said that ' more 
than wealth, more than fame, more than anything, was the 
power of the human heart, and that that power grows by 
seeking the good of others.' " 

" What he said was true, but that was not all he said." 

" He told you to be true to your country — to live for the 
things that live." 

" Jenny, that is why I am here. He told you to be true to 
your home. You have been that, Jenny. You took care of 
father when he was sick for the last time, and you anticipated 
all his wants. I love you for that, Jenny." 

"But it made me happy to do it, and the memory of it 
makes me happy now." 

" And mother, you were her life in her old age. They are 
gone, both gone, but your heart made them happy when their 
steps were retreating. Jenny, Jenny, your hair is turning 
gray, and mine is gray already. You have fulfilled Uncle 
Benjamin's charge under the trees. You have been true to 
your home." 

" I only wish that I could have done more for our folks; 
and you, Ben — I can see you now as you were on that summer 
day — you have been true to your country." 



JENNY AGAIN. 253 

" Jenny, do you remember the old writing-school master, 
George Brownell? You do? Well, I have a great secret 
for you. I used to tell my affairs to you many years ago. I 
am in favor of the independence of the colonies; and when 
Congress shall so declare, I shall put my name, that the old 
schoolmaster taught me to write, to the Declaration." 

" Ben, it may cost you your life! " 

" Then I will leave Uncle Ben's name in mine to the mar- 
tyrs' list. I must be true to my country as you have been to 
your family — I must live for the things that live. I am Uncle 
Ben's pamphlet, Jenny. I know not what may befall me. This 
may be the last time that I shall ever visit Boston town — my 
beloved Boston — but I have found power with men by seeking 
their good, and my prayer is that I may one day meet you again, 
and have you say to me that I have honored Uncle Ben's 
name. I would rather have that praise from you than from any 
other person in the world: 'More than wealth, more than 
fame, more than anything, is the power of the human heart.' " 

It was night. The camp of Washington was glimmering 
far away. Boston Neck was barricaded. There was a ship in 
the mouth of the Charles. A cannon boomed on Charlestown's 
hills. 

"Jenny, I must go. When shall we meet again? Not 
until I have put Uncle Ben's name to the declaration of Amer- 
ican liberty and independence is won. I must prepare the 
minds of the people to resolve to become an independent nation. 
My sister, my own true sister, what events may pass before we 
shall see each other again! When you were younger I made 
you a present of a spinnnig- wheel; later I sent you finery. I 



254: TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

wish to leave you now this watch. The hours of the struggle 
for human liberty are at hand. Count the hours! " 

They parted at the gate. The leaves were falling. It was 
the evening of the vear. He looked back when he had taken a 
few steps. He was nearly seventy years of age. Yet his great 
work of life was before him — it was yet to do, while white- 
haired Jenny should count the hours on the clock of time. 

Sam Adams had grasped the idea that the appeal to arms 
must end in the independence of the colonies. Franklin saw 
the rising star of the destiny of the union of the colonies to se- 
cure justice from the crown. He left Boston to give his whole 
soul to this great end. 

The next day they went out to Tuft's Hill and looked 
down on the encamped town, the war ships, and the sea. It 
was an Indian summer. The trees were scarlet, the orchards 
were laden with fruit, and the fields were yellow with corn. 

Over the blue sea rose the Castle, now gone. The smoke 
from many British camps curled up in the still, sunny air. 

The Providence House Indian (now at the farm of the late 
Major Ben Perley Poore) gleamed over the roofs of the State 
House and its viceregal signs, which are now as then. Boston 
was three hills then, and the whole of the town did not appear 
as clearly from the hills on the west — the Sunset Hills — as 
now. 

" Jenny, liberty is the right of mankind, and the cause of 
liberty is the cause of mankind," said Franklin. " Why should 
England hold provinces in America to whom she will allow no 
voice in her councils, whose people she may tax and condemn 
to prisons and death at the will of the king? I have told you 



JENNY AGAIN. 255 

my heart. America has the right of freedom, and the colonies 
must be free! " 

They walked along the cool hill ways, and he looked long- 
ingly back at the glimmering town. 

" Beloved Boston! " he said. " So thon wilt ever be to me! " 
He turned to his sister: " I used to tell my day dreams to you — 
they have come true, in part. I have been thinking again. If 
the colonies could be made free, and I were to be left a rich 
man, I would like to make a gift to the schools of Boston, 
whose influence would live as long as they shall last. Sis- 
ter, I was too poor in my boyhood to answer the call 
of the school bells. I would like to endow the schools there 
with a fund for gifts or medals that would make every boy 
happy who prepares himself well for the work of life, be he rich 
or poor. I would like also to establish there a fund to help 
young apprentices, and to open public places of education and 
enjoyment which would-be free to all people." 

" You are Silence Dogood still," said Mrs. Mecom. " Day 
dreams in your life change into realities. I believe that all you 
now have in your heart to do will be done. Benjamin, these 
are great dreams." 

" It may be that I will be sent abroad again." 

" Benjamin, we may be very old when we meet again. But 
the colonies will be made free, and you will live to give a medal 
to the schools of Boston town. I must prophesy for you now, 
for Uncle Benjamin is gone. I began life with you — you car- 
ried me in your arms and led me by the hand. We used to 
sit by the east windows together; may we some day sit down to- 
gether by the windows of the west and review the book of life, 



256 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

and close the covers. We may then read in spirit the pam- 
phlets of Uncle Ben." 

There was a thunder of guns at the Castle. War ships were 
coming into the harhor from the bay. Franklin beheld them 
with indignation. 

" The people must not only have justice," he said, " they 
must have liberty." 

They returned by the Cambridge road under the bowery 
elms. It would be a long time before they would see each 
other again. 

In such beneficent thoughts of Boston the Franklin medal 
had its origin. It was coined out of his heart, that echoed 
wherever it went or was destined to go, "Beloved Boston!" 



CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. — A MYSTERY. 

The fame of Benjamin Franklin now filled America. On 
the continent of Europe he was held to be the first citizen of 
America. In France he was ranked among the sages and phi- 
losophers of antiquity, and his name associated with the greatest 
benefactors of the human race. It was his electrical discovery 
that gave him this solid and universal fame, but his Poor 
Eichard's proverbs, which had several times been translated 
into French, were greatly quoted on the continent of Europe, 
and made his popularity as unique as it was general. 

The old Boston schoolmaster who probably taught little Ben 
to flourish with his pen could have little dreamed of the docu- 
ments of state to which this curious characteristic of tbe pen 
would be attached. Four of these documents were papers that 
led the age, and became the charters of human freedom and 
progress and began a new order of government in the world. 
They were the Declaration of Independence, the Alliance with 
France, the Treaty of Peace with England, and the draft of 
the Constitution of the United States. 

In his service as agent of the colonies and as a member of 
the Continental Congress his mind clearly saw how valuable to 
the American cause an alliance with France and other Conti- 

257 



258 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

nental powers would be. While in Europe as an agent of the 
colonies he gave his energy and experience to assisting a secret 
committee to negotiate foreign aid in the war. It was a time of 
invisible ink, and Franklin instructed this committee how to 
use it. lie saw that Europe must be engaged in the struggle 
to make the triumph of liberty in America complete and per- 
manent. 

It was 1776. Franklin was now seventy years old and was 
in America. The colonies had resolved to be free. A com- 
mittee had been chosen by the Continental Congress in Phila- 
delphia to prepare a draft for a formal Declaration of Inde- 
pendence, a paper whose principles were destined to emancipate 
not only the united colonies but the world. The committee 
consisted of Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, John 
Adams, Robert R. Livingston, and Roger Sherman. Mr. Jef- 
ferson was appointed by this committee to write the Declara- 
tion, and he made it a voice of humanity in the language of 
the sages. He put his own glorious thoughts of liberty into it, 
and he made these thoughts trumpet tones, and they, like the 
old Liberty Bell, have never ceased to ring in the events of the 
world. 

When Jefferson had written the inspired document he 
showed it to Franklin and Adams, and asked them if they had 
any suggestions to offer or changes to make. 

Franklin saw how grandly and adequately Jefferson had 
done the work. He had no suggestion of moment to offer. 
But the composition was criticised in Congress, which brought 
out Franklin's wit, as the following story told by an eye-witness 
will show: 



THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 259 

" When the Declaration of Independence was under the 
consideration of Congress, there were two or three unlucky ex- 
pressions in it which gave offense to some members. The 
words ' Scotch and other foreign auxiliaries ' excited the ire of 
a gentleman or two of that country. Severe strictures on the 
conduct of the British king in negativing our repeated repeals 
of the law which permitted the importation of slaves were dis- 
approved by some Southern gentlemen, whose reflections were 
not yet matured to the full abhorrence of that traffic. Al- 
though the offensive expressions were immediately yielded, 
these gentlemen continued their depredations on other parts 
of the instrument. I was sitting by Dr. Franklin, who per- 
ceived that I was not insensible to (' that I was writhing un- 
der/ he says elsewhere) these mutilations. 

" ' I have made it a rule,' said he, ' whenever in my power, 
to avoid becoming the draughtsman of papers to be reviewed by 
a public body. I took my lesson from an incident which I 
will relate to you. When I was a journeyman printer, one of 
my companions, an apprenticed hatter, having served out his 
time, was about to open shop for himself. His first concern 
was to have a handsome signboard, with a proper inscription. 
He composed it in these words, John Thompson, Hatter, maTces 
and sells Hats for ready Money, with a figure of a hat sub- 
joined. But he thought he would submit it to his friends for 
their amendments. The first he showed it to thought the 
word hatter tautologous, because followed by the words nialces 
hats, which showed he was a hatter. It w^as struck out. The 
next observed that the word mal-es might as well be omitted, 
because his customers would not care who made the hats; if 



260 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

good and to their niind they would buy, by whomsoever made. 
He struck it out. A third said he thought the words for ready 
money were useless, as it was not the custom of the place to sell 
on credit. Every one who purchased expected to pay. They 
were parted with; and the inscription now stood, ' John 
Thompson sells hats.' 'Sells hats?' says his next friend; 
' why, nobody will expect you to give them away. What, then, 
is the use of that word?' It was stricken out, and hats fol- 
lowed, the rather as there was one painted on the board. So 
his inscription was reduced ultimately to John Thompson, with 
the figure of a hat subjoined.' " 

" We must all hang together," said Mr. Hancock, when the 
draft had been accepted and was ready to be signed. 

" Or else we shall hang separately," Franklin is reported 
to have answered. 

John Hancock, President of the Congress, put his name to 
the document in such a bold hand that " the King of Eng- 
land might have read it without spectacles." Franklin set 
his signature with its looped flourish among the immor- 
tals. In the same memorable month of July Congress ap- 
pointed Franklin, Jefferson, and Adams to prepare a national 
seal. 

The plan submitted by Franklin for the great seal of the 
United States was poetic and noble. It is thus described: 

" Pharaoh sitting in an open chariot, a crown on his head 
and a sword in his hand, passing through the divided waters 
of the Bed Sea in pursuit of the Israelites. Pays from a pillar 
of fire in the cloud, expressive of the Divine presence and 
command, beaming on Moses, who stands on the shore, and. 



THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 2G1 

extending his hand over the sea, causes it to overflow Pharaoh. 
Motto: ' Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God.' " 

This device was rejected by Congress, which decided upon 
a more simple allegory, and the motto E Pluribus Unum. 

It. was a time of rejoicing in Philadelphia now, and of the 
great events Jefferson was the voice and Franklin was the soul. 

The citizens, as we have shown, tore down all the king's 
arms and royal devices from the government houses, court- 
rooms, shops, and taverns. They made a huge pile of tar bar- 
rels and placed these royal signs upon them. On a fiery July 
night they put the torch to the pile, and the flames curled up, 
and the black smoke rose in a high column under the moon 
and stars, and the last vestige of royalty disappeared in the 
bonfire. 

Franklin heard the Liberty Bell ring out on the adop- 
tion of the Declaration of Independence by Congress. He saw 
the bonfire rise in the night of these eventful days, and heard 
the shouts of the people. He had set his hand to the Declara- 
tion. He desired next to set it to a treaty of alliance with 
France. Would this follow? 

A very strange thing had happened in the colonies some 
seven months or more before — in November, 1775. A paper 
was presented to Congress, coming from a mysterious source, 
that stated that a stranger had arrived in Philadelphia who 
brought an important message from a foreign power, and who 
wished to meet a committee of Congress in secret and to make 
a confidential communication. 

Congress was curious, but it at first took no official notice of 

the communication. But, like the Cumsean sibyl to Tarquin, 

IS 



2G2 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

the message came again. It was not received, but it made an 
unofficial impression. It was repeated. Who was this mys- 
terious stranger? Whence came he, and what had he to 
offer? 

The curiosity grew, and Congress appointed a committee 
consisting of John Jay, Dr. Franklin, and Thomas Jefferson 
to meet the foreigner and to receive his proposition. 

The committee appointed an hour to meet the secret mes- 
senger, and a place, which was one of the rooms of Carpenters' 
Hall. 

At the time appointed they went to the place and waited 
the coming of the unknown ambassador. 

There entered the room an elderly man of dignified appear- 
ance and military bearing. He was lame; he may have been 
at some time wounded. He spoke with a French decent. It 
was plainly to be seen that he was a French military officer. 

Why had he come here? Where had he been hiding? 

The committee received him cautiously and inquired in re- 
gard to the nature of his mission. 

" His Most Christian Majesty the King of France," said he, 
" has heard of your struggle for a defense of your rights and 
for liberty. He has desired me to meet you as his representa- 
tive, and to express to you his respect and sympathy, and to 
say to you in secrecy that should the time come when you 
needed aid, his assistance would not be withheld." 

This was news of moment. The committee expressed their 
gratitude and satisfaction, and said: 

" Will you give us the evidence of your authority that we 
may present it to Congress? " 



THE DECLARATION OP INDEPENDENCE. 263 

Ilis answer was strange. 

" Gentlemen/' said he, drawing his hand across his throat, 
" I shall take care of my head." 

" But," said one of the committee, " in an event of such 
importance we desire to secure the friendly opinion of Con- 
gress." 

" Gentlemen," making the same gesture, " I shall take care 
of my head." He then said impressively : " If you want arms, 
you may have them; if you want ammunition, you may have 
it; if }ou want money, you may have it. Gentlemen, I shall 
take care of my head." 

He went out and disappeared from public view. He is 
such a mysterious character in our history as to recall the 
man with the Iron Mask. Did he come from the Kinsr of 
France? None knew, or could ever tell. 

Diplomacy employed secret messengers at this time. It was 
full of suggestions, intrigues, and mysteries. 

But there was one thing that this lame but courtly French 
officer did: he made an impression on the minds of the com- 
mittee that the colonies had a friend in his " Most Christian 
Majesty the King of France," and from him they might hope 
for aid and for an alliance in their struggle for independence. 
Here was topic indeed for the secret committee. 

On the 2Gth of September, 1776, Congress elected three 
ambassadors to represent the American cause in the court of 
France; they Avere Silas Deane, Arthur Lee, and Benjamin 
Franklin. Before leaving the country Franklin collected all 
the money that he could command, some four thousand pounds, 
and lent it to Congress. Taking with him his two grandsons. 



2fi4 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

he arrived at Xantes on the 7th of December of that year, and 
he received in that city the first of the many ovations that his 
long presence in France was destined to inspire. He went to 
Paris, and took up his residence at Passy, a village some two 
miles from the city, on a high hill overlooking the city and 
the Seine. It was a lovely place even in Franklin's day. Here 
have lived men of royal endowments — Rossini, Bellini, Lamar- 
tine, Grisi. The arrival of Franklin there, where he lived 
many years, made the place famous. For Franklin, as a 
wonder-worker of science and as an apostle of human liberty, 
was looked upon more as a god than a man in France — a Plato, 
a Cato, a Socrates, with the demeanor of a Procion. 

His one hope now was that he would be able to set the 
signature which he had left on the Declaration of Independence 
on a Treaty of Alliance between the States of America and his 
Most Christian Majesty the King of France. Will he, shade 
of the old schoolmaster of Boston town? 

Jamie the Scotchman, the type of the man who ridicules and 
belittles one, but claims the credit of his success when that one 
is successful, was very old now. Fine old Mr. Calamity, who could 
only see things in the light of the past, would prophesy no more. 
A young man with a purpose is almost certain to meet men like 
these in his struggles. Not all are able to pass such people 
in the Franklin spirit. He heard what such men had to say, 
tried to profit by their criticism, but wasted no time or energy 
in dispute or retaliation. The seedtime of life is too short, 
and its hours are too few, to spend in baffling detraction. Time 
makes changes pleasantly, and tells the truth concerning all 
men. A high purpose seeking fulfillment under humble cir- 



THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 265 

cumstances is sure to be laughed at. It is that which stands 
alone that looks queer. 

After Samuel Adams, Franklin was among the first of those 
leaders whose heart sought the independence of the colonies. 
The resolution for independence, passed on July 4, 1776, set 
ringing the Liberty Bell on the State House of Philadelphia. 
Couriers rode with the great news of the century and of the 
ages to Boston, which filled the old town with joy. 

They brought a copy of the Declaration with them, and a 
day was appointed for the reading of it from the front window 
of the State House, under the shadow of the king's arms, the 
classic inscription, and the lion and the unicorn. 

Old, tottering Jamie the Scotchman was among those who 
heard the great news with an enkindled heart. He, who had 
so laughed at little Ben's attempts for the public welfare, now 
claimed more and more to have been the greatest friend of the 
statesman's youth. It was the delight of his ninety or more 
years to make this claim wherever he went, and when the 
courier brought the news of the Declaration, we may see him 
going to Jane Mecom's house. 

" You all know what a friend I was to that boy, and how 
I encouraged him, a little roughly it may be, but I always meant 
well. Jane, on the day the Declaration is read in public I 
want you to let me go with you to hear it." 

They go together; she a lusty woman in full years, and 
he who had longed outlived his generation. 

The street in front of the old State House is filled with 
people. The balcony window is thrown up, and out of the 
Council Chamber, now popularly known as the Sam Adams 



206 TRUE TO HIS HOME, 

room, there appears the representative of Sam Adams and of 
five members of tlie Boston schools wlio had signed the Declara- 
tion. The officers of the State are there, and over the street 
shines the spire of the South Church and gleams the Province 
House Indian. The children are there; aged idlers who loi- 
tered about the town pump; the women patriots from Spring 
Lane. The Xew England flag, of blue ground with the cross 
of St. George on a white field, floats high over all. 

A voice rends the clear air. It read: 

" When in the course of human events," and it marches on 
in stately tones above the silence of the people. At the words 
" all men are created free and equal," the name of Franklin 
breaks upon the stillness. Jamie the Scotchman joins in the 
rising applause, and he proudly turns to Jane Mecom and 
says: 

" Only to think what a friend I was to him, too! " 

They return by the Granary burying ground. A tall, gray 
monument holds their attention. It is one that the people 
Icved to visit then, and that touches the heart to-day. At the 
foot of the epitaph they read again, as they had done many 
times before: 

" Their youngest son, 

ill filial regard to their memory, 

places this stone.'' 

" His heart was true to the old folks," said Jamie. 

It was the monument that Benjamin Franklin had erected 
to his parents. 



CHAPTER XXXVII. 

ANOTHER SIGNATURE. — THE STORY OF AUVERGNE SANS TACHE. 

Some years ago I stood on the battlements of Metz, once 
a French but now a German town. Below the town, with its 
grand esplanade, on which is a heroic statue of Marshal Ney, 
rolls the narrow Moselle, and around it are the remains of forti- 
fications that are old in legend, song, and story. 

It was here, near one of these old halls, that a young French- 
man saw, as it were, a vision, and the impression of that hour 
was never lost, but became a turning point in American history. 

There had come a report to the English court that Wash- 
ington had been driven across the Jerseys, and that the Amer- 
ican cause was lost. 

There was given at this time a military banquet at Metz. 
The Duke of Gloucester, brother of George III, was present, 
and among the French officers there was a marquis, lately mar- 
ried, who was a favorite of the French court. He had been 
brought up in one of the heroic provinces of Auvergne, and he 
had been associated with the heroes of Gatinais, whose motto 
was Auvergne sans taclie. The Auvergnese were a pas- 
toral people, distinguished for their courage and honor. In 
this mountainous district was the native place of many eminent 
men, among them Polignac. 

267 



268 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

The young French marquis who was conspicuous at the 
banquet on this occasion was named Lafayette. 

The Duke of Gloucester was in high spirits over his cups 
on this festal night. 

" Our arms are triumphant in America! " he exclaimed. 
" Washington is retreating across the Jerseys." 

A shout went up with glittering wine-cups: " So ever flee 
the enemies of George III! " 

*' Washington! " The name rang in the young French offi- 
cer's ears. He had in his veins the blood of the mountaineers, 
and he loved liberty and the spirit of the motto Auvergne 
sans tache. 

He may never have heard the name of Washington before, 
or, if he had, only as of an officer who had given Braddock un- 
welcome advice. But he knew the American cause to be that 
of liberty, and Washington to be the leader of that cause. 

And Washington " was retreating across the Jerseys." 
Where were the Jerseys? He may never have heard of the 
country before. 

He went out into the air under the moon and stars. There 
came to him a vision of liberty and a sense of his duty to the 
cause. The face of America, as it were, appeared to him. 
" When first I saw the face of America, I loved her," he said 
many years afterward to the American Congress. 

Washington was driven back in the cause of libertv. La- 
fayette resolved to cross the seas and to offer Washington his 
sword. He felt that liberty called him — liberty for America, 
which might mean liberty for France and for all mankind. 

About this time Benjamin Franklin began to receive letters 



THE STORY OP AUVERGXE SANS TACHE. 269 

from this young officer, filled with the fiery spirit of the moun- 
taineers. The officer desired a commission to go to America 
and enter the army. But it was a time of disaster, and faith 
in the American cause was very low. The marquis resolved 
to go to America at his own expense. 

He sailed for that country in May, 1777. He landed off 
the coast of the Carolinas in June, and made his memorahle 
ride across the country to Philadelphia in that month. Baron 
de Kalb accompanied him. 

On landing on the shores of the Carolinas, he and Baron 
de Kalb knelt down on the sand, at night under the stars, and 
in the name of God dedicated their swords to liberty. 

The departure of these two officers for America filled all 
France with delight. Lafayette had seen that it would be so; 
that his going would awaken an enthusiasm in the circles of the 
court and among the people favorable to America; that it 
would aid the American envoys in their mission. It was 
the mountain grenadiers that made the final charges at the 
siege of Yorktown under the inspiring motto of Auvergne 
sans taclie (Auvergne without a stain). 

Franklin now dwelt at beautiful Passy on the hill, and his 
residence there was more like a princely court than the house 
of an ambassador. He gave his heart and life and influence 
to seeking an alliance between France and the States. The 
court was favorable to the alliance, but the times and the con- 
stitution of the kingdom made the king slow, cautious, and 
diplomatic. 

The American cause wavered. The triumphs of Lord Howe 
filled England with rejoicing and Passy with alarm. 



270 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

In the midst of the depression at Passy there came a mes- 
senger from Massachusetts who brought to Franklin the news 
of Burgoyne's surrender. When Dr. Franklin was told that 
this messenger was in the courtyard of Passy, he rushed out to 
meet him. 

" Sir, is Philadelphia taken ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

Franklin clasped his hands. 

" But, sir, I have other news. Burgo}Tie and his army are 
prisoners of war! " 

Great was the rejoicing at Passy and in Paris. The way 
to an alliance appeared now to open to the envoys. 

" Mr. Austin," Dr. Franklin used to say to the young 
messenger from Massachusetts, " you brought us glorious 
news! " 

The tidings was followed by other news in Passy. Decem- 
ber 17, 1777, was a great and joyful day there. A minister 
came to the envoys there to announce that the French Gov- 
ernment was ready to conclude an agreement with the United 
States, and to make a formal treaty of alliance to help them in 
the cause of independence. 

The cause was won, but the treaty was yet delayed. There 
were articles in it that led to long debates. 

But in these promising days Franklin was a happy man. 
He dressed simply, and he lived humbly for an envo}^, though 
his living cost him some thirteen thousand dollars a year. He 
did not conform to French fashions, nor did the French ex- 
pect them from a philosopher. He did not even wear a wig, 
which most men wore upon state occasions. Instead of a 



THE STORY OF AUVERGNE SANS TACHE. 271 

wig lie. wore a fur cap, and one of his portraits so repre- 
sents him. 

While the negotiations were going on, a large cake was 
sent one day to the apartment where the envoys were as- 
sembled. It bore the inscription Le digue Franlclin 
(the worthy Franklin). On reading the inscription, Mr. 
Silas Deane, one of the ambassadors, said, " As usual, 
Franklin, we have to thank you for our share in gifts like 
these." 

" Not at all," said Franklin. " This cake is designed for all 
three of us. Don't you see? — Le (Lee) Digne (Deane) Frank- 
lin." 

He could afford to be generous and in good humor. 

February 6, 1778, was one of the most glorious of all in 
Franklin's life. That day the treaties were completed and put 
upon the tables to sign. The boy of the old Boston writing 
school did honor to his schoolmaster again. He put his name 
now after the conditions of the alliance between France and 
the United States of America. 

The treaty was celebrated in great pomp at the court. 

The event was to be publicly announced on March 20, 
1778. On that day the envoys were to be presented to the kin^ 
amid feasts and rejoicings. 

Would Franklin wear a wig on that great occasion? His 
locks were gray and thin, for he was seventy-two years old, and 
his fur cap would not be becoming amid the splendors of Ver- 
sailles. 

He ordered one. The hairdresser came with it. He could 
not fit it upon the philosopher's great head. 



272 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" It is too small/' said Franklin. " Monsieur, it. is im- 
possible." 

" No, monsieur," said the perruqnier, " it is not that the wig 
is too small; it is that your head is too large! " 

What did Franklin need of a wig? He dressed for the oc- 
casion in a plain suit of black velvet, with snowy ruffles and 
silver buckles. When the chamberlain saw him coming, he 
hesitated to admit him. Admit a man to the royal presence 
in his own head alone? But he allowed the philosopher to go 
on in his velvet, ruffles, and silver buckles, and his independent 
appearance filled the court with delight. 

There was another paper that he must now have begun to 
see in his clear visions. The treaty of alliance would lead to 
the triumph of the American cause. That end must be fol- 
lowed by a treaty of peace between Great Britain and the 
United States. Would he sign that treaty some day and again 
honor the old Boston schoolmaster? We shall see. 

But how did young Lafayette meet his duties in the dark 
days of America — he whose motto was " Auvergne without 
a stain? " 

The day of his test came again at a banquet. It was at 
York. Let us picture this pivotal scene of his life and of 
American history. 

After the triumphs of Gates at Saratoga, Washington be- 
came unpopular, and Congress appointed a Board of War, whose 
object it became to place Lafayette at the head of the North- 
ern army, and thus give him a chance to supersede his chief. 

The young Frenchman was loyal to Washington, and the 
motto Auvergne sans taclie governed his life. 



THE STORY OF AUVERGNE SANS TACHE. 273 

Let us suppose him to meet his trusty old friend Baron 
de Kalb, the German temperance general, at this critical 
hour. 

" Baron de Kalb, we stood together side by side at Metz, and 
we knelt down together that midsummer night when we first 
landed on Carolina's sands, and then we rode together across 
the provinces. These are events that I shall ever love to re- 
call. To-night we stand together again in brotherhood of soul. 
Baron, the times are dark and grow more perilous, and it may 
be I now confide in thee for the last time." 

" Yes, Lafayette," answered De Kalb, " I myself feel 'tis 
so. You may live and rise, but I may fall. But wherever I 
may go I shall draw this sword that I consecrated with thine 
to liberty. It may be ours to meet by chance again, but, La- 
fayette, we shall never be as we are now. Thou well hast said 
the hour is dark. Open thy soul, then, Lafayette, to me." 

" Baron, it burns my brain and shrinks my heart to say that 
the hour is dark not only for the cause but for our chief, for 
AVashington. In halls of state, in popular applause, the rising 
star is Gates. Factions arise, cabals combine, and this new 
Board of War has sent for me. In some provincial room that 
flattery decorates they are to make for me a feast. What means 
the feast? 'Tis this: to offer me the Northern field. And 
why? To separate my sword from Washington. ' If thy right 
hand offend thee, cut it off! ' I'm loyal to the cause, and 
must obey this new-made Board of War; but on that night, 
if so it be that I have the opportunity, I shall arise, and, against 
all flatteries, take my stand. I then and there will proclaim 
in clear-cut words my loyalty to Washington. He is the cause; 



274 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

in him it stands or falls; to gain a world for self, my heart could 
never be untrue to him. Day after day, month after month, 
year after year, he leads the imperiled way, yet holds his faith 
in God and man. The hireling Hessians roll their drums 
through ports and towns; the wily Indian joins the invader; 
his army is famine-smitten and thinned with fever, and drill 
in rags, while Congress meets in secret halls but to impede his 
plans and criticise; and while he holds the scales and looks 
toward the end, and makes retreat best serve the cause, what 
rivals rise! See brilliant Gates appear! Does he not know 
this rivalry and h'ear the plaudits that surround the name of 
Saratoga? I've shared my thoughts with Washington, young 
as I am, and he has honored me with his esteem. I have heard 
him say: "0 Lafayette, I stand alone in all the world! I 
dream no dreams of high ambition. I love the farm more than 
the field — my country home more than the halls of state I 
serve. In a cause like this I hold that it is not unsubstantial 
victories but generalship tlaat wins.' 

" One day he spoke like this: ' Marquis, I stood one winter 
night upon a rocking boat and crossed the Delaware. It was 
a bitter night; no stars were in the sky; the lanterns' rays 
scarce fell upon the waters; the oars rose and fell, though they 
were frozen, for they were plied by strong and grizzly fisher- 
men; the snow fell pitiless, with hail and sleet and rain. The 
night was wind, and darkness was the air. The army fol- 
lowed me, where I could not see. Our lips were silent. These 
stout and giant men, from Cape Ann and from wintry wharf- 
ages of Marblehead, knew their duty well, and safe we crossed 
the tide.' In that lone boat, amid the freezing slcct and 



THE STORY OP AUVERGNE SANS TACHE. 275 

darkness deep, the new flag of the nation's hope marched in 
darkness. 

" Baron de Kalb, there is a spirit whose pinions float upon 
the wings of time. She comes to me in dreams and visions in 
such hours as these. I saw her on the fortress walls of Metz; I 
knew her meaning and her mission saw. Where liberty is, 
there is my country, and all I am I again offer to her 
cause. Hear me this hour; the presence of that spirit falls 
on me now as at Metz. I go to the feast that is waiting for me; 
there my soul must be true and speak the truth, and for the 
truth there is no judgment day. At Metz I left myself for 
liberty; at York I shall be as true to honor. I hold unsullied 
fame to be more than titles — Auvergne sans taclie. My resolu- 
tion makes my vision clear. Baron de Kalb, mark you my 
words in this prophetic hour: the character of Washington 
will free one day the world, and lead the Aryan race and lib- 
erty and peace. It is not his genius — minds as great have been ; 
it is not his heart — there have been hearts as large; it is not his 
sword, for swords have been as brave, but it is himself that 
makes sure the cause. He shall win liberty, and give to men 
their birthright and to toil a field of hope; to industry the 
wealth that it creates, and to the toiler his dues. So liberty to 
brotherhood shall lead, and brotherhood to peace, and brother- 
hood and peace shall bring to unity all human families, and 
men shall live no more in petty strife for gain, but for the souls 
of men. The destinies then, as in Virgil's eye, shall spin life's 
web, and to their spindles say, ' Thus go forever and for- 
ever on! ' He is the leader appointed by Heaven for sublime 
events. I am sent to him as a knight of God. I go to York. 



2T6 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

I was true at Metz to liberty, and in the council hall I shall 
be true, whatever is offered me, to Washington, our Wash- 
ington beloved! to the world's great commoner! Fare- 
well." 

The feast for Lafayette was spread at York in a blazing 
hall; red wine filled the crystal cups. Silken banners waved 
and disclosed the magic name of " Lafayette." The Board 
of War was there, proud Gates, and the men of state. The 
FlcAir de Us was there and blew across the national ban- 
ners. Lafayette came. A shout arose as he appeared. 
The Board of War was merry, and the wine was spilled 
and toasts were drunk to all the heroes of the war except 
Washington. The name of Lafayette was hailed with adula- 
tion; then all was still. The grand commissioner had waved 
his hand. lie bowed, and gave to Lafayette a sealed paper; 
he raised his cup, and rose and bowed, and said, " Now drink ye 
all to him, our honored guest, commander of the Army of 
the North." The oak room rang with cheers; the glasses 
clinked and gleamed. 

The board and guests sat down. There, tall and gi'and 
above the council, towered the form of Lafa3'ette. He stood 
there silent, then raised a crystal cup, and said: " I thank you, 
friends, and I would that I were worthier of your applause. 
You have honored many worthy names, but there is one name 
that you have omitted in your many toasts, and that one name 
to me stands above all the other heroes of the world! / drink 
to him! " He lifted high the cup, and said, " I pledge my 
honor, my sword, and all I am to Washington! " 

He stood in silence; no other cup with his was raised. He 



THE STORY OF AUVEEGNE SANS TACHE. 277 

left the hall, and walked that night the sqnare of York be- 
neath the moon and stars as he had done at Metz. 

He poured forth his soul, thinking again the thoughts of 
Metz, and making again the high resolves that he had made 
on Carolina's sands with Baron de Kalb: 

" Liberty! the star of hope that lights each noble cause, 
uniting in one will the hearts of men, and massing in one force 
the wills of men. The stars obey the sun; the earth, the stars; 
the nations, those who rise o'er vain ambitions and become the 
cause. Thou gavest Eome the earth and Greece the sea; thou 
sweepest down the Alps, and made the marbles bloom like 
roses, for thy heroes' monuments! I hear thy voice, and I obey, 
as all the true have bowed who more than self have loved 
mankind! " 

The coming of Franklin to Passy and the going of La- 
fayette from Metz were among the great influences of the age 
of liberty. Count Eochambeau followed Lafayette after the 
alliance, and brought over with him among his regiments the 
grenadiers of Auvergne — Auvergne sans tache, which motto 
they honored at Yorktown. 

Jenny's heart beat with joy as she heard of the coming of 
Lafayette. In these years of the great struggle for human 
liberty she looked at the watch and counted the hours. 

Franklin had long been the hope of the country. America 
looked to him to secure the help of France in the long struggle 
for liberty. Into this hope humble Jane Mecom entered with 
a sister's confidence and pride. 

She awaited the news from Philadelphia, which was the seat 

of government, with the deepest concern. The nation's affairs 
19 



278 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

were her family affairs. She heard it said daily that if Franklin 
secured the aid of the French arms, the cause of liberty in 
America would be won. It was the kindly hand that led her 
when a girl that was now moving behind these great events. 

One July day, at the full tide of the year, she was standing 
in the bowery yard of her simple home, thinking of her brother 
and the hope of the people in him. She moved, as under a 
spell of thought, out of the gate and toward Beacon Hill. She 
met Jamie the Scotchman on her way. 

''An' do you think that he will be able to do it?" said 
Jamie. By " it " he meant the alliance of France with the 
colonies. " Surely it is a big job to undertake, but if he should 
succeed, Jane, I want you always to remember what a friend 
I was to him. Where are you going, Jane?" 

" To the old tree on Beacon Hill, where Uncle Ben used to 
talk to me in childhood." 

" May I go with you, Jane? They say that a fleet has been 
sighted off Narragansett Bay. We shall know when the post 
comes in." 

" Yes, Jamie, come with me. I love to talk of old times 
with you." 

" And what a friend I was to Mm." 

It was a fiery day. Cumulus clouds were piling up in the 
fervid heats. The Hancock House gardens, where now the 
State House is, were fragrant with flowers, and the Common 
below was a sea of shining leaves. 

A boom shook the air, 

" What was that, Jane? " 

"It came from the Castle." 



THE STORY OF AUVERGNE SANS TACHE. 2Y9 

" Perhaps there is news." 

Another boom echoed from the Dorchester Hills, and a 
puff of smoke rose from the Castle. 

" There is news, Jamie; the Castle is firing a salute." 

" I think the French fleet has arrived; if so, his work is be- 
hind it, and I always was such a friend to him, too! " 

The Castle thundered. There was news. 

A magistrate came riding over the hills on horseback, going 
to the house of John Hancock. 

" Hey! " cried Jamie, " an' what is the news? " 

" The French fleet has arrived at Newport. Count Eocham- 
beau is landing there. Hurrah! this country is free! " 

Jane sat down under the old tree, as she had done when a 
girl in Uncle Benjamin's day. She saw the flag of the Stripes 
and Stars leap, as it were, into the air over the Hancock gar- 
dens. She had always revered John Hancock since he had 
heroically written to Washington at the time of the siege, 
"Burn Boston, if there is need, and leave John Hancock a 
beggar! " 

Who was that hurrying up from the broad path of the Com- 
mon toward the Hancock mansion ? Jane rose up and looked. 
It was Samuel Adams, the so-called " last of the Puritans," a 
man who had almost forgotten his own existence in his efforts 
to unite the colonies for the struggle for liberty, and who had 
said to an agent of General Gage who offered him bribes if he 
would make his peace with the king, " I have long ago made 
my peace with the King of kings, and no power on earth can 
make me recreant to my duties to my country." 

The Castle thundered on from the green isle in the harbor. 



280 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

People were hurrying to and fro and gathering about the 
grounds of the first President of the Provincial Congress. 
Business stopped. The hearts of the people were thrilled. The 
independence of the American colonies now seemed secure. 

There went up a great shout in front of the Hancock 
house. It was — 

"Franklin! Eochambeau! Franklin!" 

Jamie the Scotchman echoed the cheer from his lusty lungs. 

" Franklin!/" he cried, waving his hat, "• Franklin now and 
forever! " 

His face beamed. " Only think, Jane, what a friend I 
used to be to him! What do you suppose gave his hand such 
power in these affairs of the nation? " 

" It was his heart, Jamie." 

" Yes, yes, Jane, that was it — it was the heart of Franklin — 
of Ben, and don't you never forget what a friend I used to be 
to him." 

The coming of Eochambeau, under the influence of the 
poor tallow chandler's son, was a re-enforcement that helped to 
gain the victory of liberty. When Cornwallis was taken, Jane 
Mecom heard the Castle thunder again over the sea; and v/hen 
Eochambeau came to Boston to prepare for the re-embarkation 
of the French army, she saw her brother's hand behind all these 
events, and felt like one who in her girlhood had been taken 
into the counsels of the gods. Her simple family affairs had 
become those of the nation. 

She knew the springs of the nation's history, and she loved 
to recall the days when her brother was Silence Dogood, 
which he had never ceased to be.. , 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

FEANKLIN SIGNS THE TREATY OF PEACE. — HOW GEORGE III 

RECEIVES THE NEWS. 

The surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown brought 
the war to an end. The courier from the army came flying 
into Philadelphia at night. The watchman called out, " Past 
twelve o'clock, and all is well! " " Past one o'clock, and all is 
well! " and " Past two o'clock, and Cornwallis is taken! " The 
people of the city were in the streets early that morning. Bells 
pealed; men saluted each other in the name of " Peace." 

Poor George III! He had stubbornly sought to subdue 
the colonies, and had honestly believed that he had been di- 
vinely appointed to rule them after his own will. No idea that 
he had ever been pigheaded and wrong had ever been driven 
into his dull brain. His view of his prerogative was that what- 
ever he thought to be best was best, and they were ungrateful 
and stiff-necked people who took a different view, and that it 
was his bounden duty to punish such in his colonies for their 
obstinacy. 

It was November 25th in London — Sunday. A messenger 
came flying from the coast to Pall Mall. He was bearing ex- 
citing news. On he went through London until he reached 
the house of George Germain, Minister of American Affairs. 

281 



282 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

The messenger handed to Lord George a dispatch. The minis- 
ter glanced at it and read the fate of the New World, and 
must have stood as one dazed: 

" Cornwallis has surrendered! " 

Lord Walsingham, an under-Secretary of State, was at the 
house. To him he read the stunning dispatch. The two took 
a hackney coach and rode in haste to Lord Stormont's. 

" Mount the coach and go with us to Lord North's. Corn- 
wallis is taken! " 

Lord Stormont mounted the coach, and the three rode to 
the office of the Secretary of State. 

The prime minister received the news, we are told, " as he 
would have taken a ball into his heart." 

" God, it is all over! " he exclaimed, pacing up and down 
the room, and again and again, " God, it is over! " 

The news was conveyed to the king that half of his empire 
was lost — that his hope of the New World was gone. How was 
the king affected? Says a writer of the times, who gives us a 
glance at this episode: 

" He dined on that day," he tells us, " at Lord George Ger- 
main's; and Lord Walsingham, who likewise dined there, was 
the only guest that had become acquainted with the fact. The 
party, nine in number, sat down to the table. Lord George 
appeared serious, though he manifested no discomposure. Be- 
fore the dinner was finished one of his servants delivered him a 
letter, brought back by the messenger who liad been dispatched 
to the king. Lord George opened and perused it; then 
looking at Lord Walsingham, to whom he exclusively directed 
his observation, ' The king writes,' said he, ' just as he always 



FRANKLIN SIGNS THE TREATY OF PEACE. 283 

does, except that I observe he has omitted to note the hour 
and the minute of his writing with his usual precision.' This 
remark, though calculated to awaken some interest, excited no 
comment; and while the ladies, Lord George's three daughters, 
remained in the room, they repressed their curiosity. But they 
had no sooner withdrawn than Lord George, having acquainted 
them that from Paris information had just arrived of the old 
Count de Maurepas, first minister, lying at the point of death, 
' It would grieve me,' said he, ' to finish my career, however far 
advanced in years, were I first minister of France, before I had 
witnessed the termination of this great contest between Eng- 
land and America.' ' He has survived to see that event,' re- 
plied Lord George, with some agitation. Utterly unsuspicious 
of the fact which had happened beyond the Atlantic, he con- 
ceived him to allude to the indecisive naval action fought at 
the mouth of the Chesapeake early in the preceding month of 
September between. Admiral Graves and Count de Grasse, an 
engagement which in its results might prove most injurious 
to Lord Cornwallis. Under this impression, ' My meaning,' 
said he, ' is, that if I were the Count de Maurepas I should 
wish to live long enough to behold the final issue of the war 
in Virginia.' ' He has survived to witness it completely,', an- 
swered Lord George. ' The army has surrendered, and you 
may peruse the particulars of the capitulation in that paper,' 
taking at the same time one from his pocket, which he delivered 
into his hand, not without visible emotion. By his permission 
he read it aloud, while the company listened in profound si- 
lence. They then discussed its contents as affecting the min- 
istry, the country, and the war. It must be confessed that they 



284 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

were calculated to diffuse a gloom over the most convivial 
society, and that they opened a wide field for political specu- 
lation. 

" After perusing the account of Lord Cornwallis's surrender 
at Yorktown, it was impossible for all present not to feel a 
lively curiosity to know how the king had received the intelli- 
gence, as well as how he had expressed himself in his note to 
Lord George Germain, on the first communication of so painful 
an event. He gratified their wish by reading it to them, ob- 
serving at the same time that it did the highest honor to his 
Majesty's fortitude, firmness, and consistency of character. The 
words made an impression on his memory, which the lapse of 
more than thirty years has not erased; and he here com- 
memorates its tenor as serving to show how that prince felt 
and wrote under one of the most afflicting as well as humili- 
ating occurrences of his reign. The billet ran nearly to this 
effect: 

" ' I have received with sentiments of the deepest concern 
the communication which Lord George Germain has made me 
of the unfortunate result of the operations in Virginia. I par- 
ticularly lament it on account of the consequences connected 
with it, and the difficulties which it may produce in carrying 
on the public business, or in repairing such a misfortune. But 
I trust that neither Lord George Germain, nor any member of 
the cabinet, will suppose that it makes the smallest alteration 
in those principles of my conduct which have directed me in 
past time, and which will always continue to animate me un- 
der every event in the prosecution of the present contest.' 
Not a sentiment of despondency or of despair was to be found 



FRANKLIN SIGNS THE TREATY OF PEACE. 285 

in the letter, the very handwriting of which indicated com- 
posure of mind." 

FrankHn was still envoy plenipotentiary at beautiful Passy. 
He received the thrilling news, and wondered what terms the 
English Government would now seek to m&ke in the interests 
of peace. 

The king was shaken in mind and becoming blind. lie 
was opposed to any negotiations for peace, and threatened 
to abdicate. He sank into a pitiable state of insanity some 
years after, was confined in a padded room, and even knew 
not when the battle of Waterloo was fought, and when 
his own son died he was not called to the funeral cere- 
monies. 

But negotiations were begun, or attempted, with Dr. Frank- 
lin at Paris. Passy was again the scene of great events.- 

Mr. Adams, as a representative of the United States, ar- 
rived in Paris. Mr. Gay, another representative, was there; 
conference after conference was held with the English ambas- 
sador, and the final conference was held with the English min- 
isters on November 29, 1783. 

On the 18th of January, 1782, at Versailles, the repre- 
sentatives of England, France, and Spain signed the prelimi- 
naries of peace, declaring hostilities suspended, in the presence 
of Mr. Adams and Dr. Franklin. These preliminaries were 
finally received as a definitive treaty of peace, and on Wednes- 
day, September 3, 1783, this Treaty of Peace was signed in 
Paris. 

When the preliminary treaty was signed, Franklin rushed 
into the arms of the Due de la Eochefoucault, exclaiming: 



286 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" My friend, could I have hoped at my age to enjoy such 
happiness? " He was tlien seventy-six years old. 

So again the handwriting of the old Boston school appeared 
in the great events of nations. It was now set to peace. 

It would not seem likely that it would ever again adorn 
any like document. Franklin was old and gray. He had 
signed the Declaration, the Treaty of Alliance, and now the 
Treaty of Peace. He had done his work in writing well. It 
had ended well. Seventy-six years old; surely he would rest 
now at Passy, or return to some Philadelphia seclusion and 
await the change that must soon fall upon him. 

But this glorious old man has not yet finished the work 
begun bv Silence Dogood. Those are alwavs able to do the 
most who are doing many things. It is a period of young men 
now; it was a time of old men then. People sought wisdom 
from experience, not experiment. 

The peace is signed. The bells are ringing, and oppressed 
peoples everywhere rejoice. There is an iris on the cloud of 
humanity. The name of Franklin fills the world, and in most 
places is .pronounced like a benediction. 

From a tallow-chandler's shop to palaces; from the com- 
panionship of Uncle Ben, the poet, to that of royal blood, peo- 
ple of highest rank, and the most noble and cultured of man- 
kind; from being laughed at, to being looked upon with uni- 
versal reverence, love, and awe. • 



CHAPTEE XXXIX. 

THE TALE OF AN OLD VELVET COAT. 

When Franklin appeared to sign the Treaty of Peace be- 
tween England and the United States, he surprised the minis- 
ters, envoys, and his own friends by wearing an old velvet coat. 
"What did his appearance in this strange garment mean? 

We must tell you the story, for it is an illustration of his 
honorable pride and the sensitiveness of his character. There 
was a time when all England, except a few of his own friends, 
were laughing at Franklin. Why? 

Men who reach honorable success in life always pass through 
dark days — every sun and star is eclipsed some day — and Frank- 
lin had one day of eclipse that burned into his very soul, the 
memory of which haunted him as long as he lived. 

It was that day when he, after a summons, appeared before 
the Council of the Crown as the agent of the colonies, and was 
openly charged with dishonor. It is the day of the charge of 
dishonor that is the darkest of all life. To an honorable man 
it is the day of a false charge of dishonor that leaves the deep- 
est sting in memory. 

" My life and honor both together run ; 
Take honor from me, and my life is done." 

287 



288 * TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

But how came Franklin, the agent of the colonies in Lon- 
don, to be called before the Privy Council and to be charged 
with dishonor? 

While he was in London and the colonies were filled with 
discontent and indignation at the severe measures of the crown, 
there came to him a member of Parliament who told him that 
these measures of which the colonies complained had been 
brought about b}' certain men in the colonies themselves; that 
the ministry had acted upon the advice of these men, and had 
thought that they were acting justly and wisely. Two of the 
men cited were Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson and Andrew 
Oliver, both belonging to most respected and powerful families 
in the colonies. 

Franklin could not believe these statements against his 
countrymen, and asked for the proof. The member of Par- 
liament brought to him a package of letters addressed to 
public men on public affairs, written by Lieutenant-Governor 
Hutchinson and Mr. Oliver, which proved to him that the se- 
vere action of the ministry against Boston and the province had 
been brought about by Bostonians themselves. Franklin asked 
permission to send these letters to Boston in the interests of jus- 
tice to the ministry. The request was granted. The letters 
were sent to Boston, and were read in private to the General 
Assembly of the province. As an agent of the colonies, Frank- 
lin could not have done less in the interests of justice, truth, 
and honorable dealing. 

But the use of these letters angered the ministry, and 
Franklin was called before the Privy Council to answer the 
charge of surreptitiously obtaining private correspondence 



THE TALE OF AN OLD VELVET COAT. 289 

and using it for purposes detrimental to the royal govern- 
ment. 

To persons whose whole purpose of life is to live honor- 
ably such days as these come and develop character. 
Every one has some lurking enemy eager to misinterpret him 
to his own advantage. The lark must fly to the open sky 
when he sees the serpent coiling among the roses, or he must 
fight and dare the odds. Woe be to the wrongdoer who tri- 
umphs in such a case as this! He may gain money and ease, 
and laugh at his adversary, but when a man has proved untrue 
to any man for the sake of his own advantage, it may be writ- 
ten of him, " He went out, and it was night." A short chapter 
of a part of a biography or history may be an injustice, and 
seem to show that there is no God in the government of the 
world, but a long chapter of full history reveals God on the 
high throne of his power, and justice as his strength and glory. 
The Eoman emperors built grand monuments to atone for their 
injustice, cruelty, and vice-seeking lives, but these only black- 
ened their names by recalling what they were, and defeated 
their builders' ends. In this world all long chapters of his- 
tory read one way: that character is everything, and that time 
tells the truth about all things. Justice is the highest ex- 
pectation of life; it is only wise so to live that one's " expecta- 
tion may not be disappointed." The young man can not be 
too soon led to see that " he that is spiritual judgeth all 
things, and that no man judgeth him." 

It was the year 1773, when Franklin was sixty-eight years 
of age, that this dark and evil day came. A barrister named 
Wedderburn, young in years and new to the bar, a favorite of 



290 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

Lord North, and one who was regarded as " a wonderfully smart 
young man/' was to present the ease of the government against 
him. 

The case filled all England with intense interest. The 
most notable men of the kingdom arranged to be present at 
the hearing. Thirty-five members of the Privy Council were 
present, an unusual number at such an assembly. Lord North 
was there; the Archbishop of Canterbury; even Dr. Priestley 
was there. 

Dr. Franklin appeared on this memorable day in a velvet 
coat. He took a place in the room in a recess formed by a 
chimney, a retired place, where he stood motionless and silent. 
The coat was of Manchester velvet, and spotted. 

Wedderburn addressed the Council. He was witty, brilliant, 
careless of facts. His address on that occasion was the talk of 
all England in a few days, and it led him to a career of fame 
that would have been success had it had the right foundation. 
But nothing lasts that is not sincere. Everything in this 
world has to be readjusted that is not right. 

" How these letters," said he, " came into the possession 
of any one but the right owners is a mystery for Dr. Franklin 
to explain." 

He then spoke of Mr. Whatley, to whom the letters were first 
consigned, and proceeded thus: 

" He has forfeited all the respect of societies and of men. 
Into what companies will he hereafter go with an unembar- 
rassed face, or the honest intrepidity of virtue? Men will 
watch him with a jealous eye; they will hide their papers from 
him, and lock up their escritoires. He will henceforth esteem 



THE TALE OP AN OLD VELVET COAT. 291 

it a libel to be called a man of letters; this man of three letters. 
{Fur— a thief.)" 

The manner of the orator thrilled the august company. It 
is thus described by Jeremy Bentham: 

"I was not more astonished at the brilliancy of his light- 
ning than astounded by the thunder that accompanied it. As 
he stood, the cushion lay on the council table before him; his 
station was between the seats of two of the members, on the 
side of the right hand of the lord president. I would not, for 
double the greatest fee the orator could on that occasion have 
received, been in the place of that cushion; the ear was stunned 
at every blow; he had been reading perhaps in that book in 
which the prince of Eoman orators and rhetoric professors in- 
structs his pupils how to make impression. The table groaned 
under the assault. Alone, in the recess on the left hand of the 
president, stood Benjamin Franklin, in such position as not 
to be visible from the situation of the president, remaining the 
whole time like a rock, in the same posture, his head resting on 
his left hand; and in that attitude abiding the pelting of the 
pitiless storm." 

Franklin, the agent of the colonies, stood in his humble 
place, calm and undisturbed to all outward appearance, but he 
was cut to the quick as he heard this assembly of representative 
Englishmen laughing at his supposed dishonor. 

Says one of that day, " At the sallies of the orator's sarcas- 
tic wit all the members of the Council, the president himself 
not excepted, frequently laughed outright." 

Benjamin Franklin went home, and put away his spotted 
velvet coat. He might want it again. It would be a re- 



292 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

minder to him — a lesson of life. He might wear it again 
some day. 

The next day, being Sunday, the eminent Dr. Priestley came 
to take breakfast with him. 

Dr. Franklin said: ^' Let me read the arraignment twice 
over. I have never before been so sensible of the power of 
a good conscience. If I had not considered the thing for 
which I have been so much insulted the best action of my 
life, and which I certainly should do again under like circum- 
stances, I could not have supported myself." 

Franklin held an office under the crown. On Monday 
morning a letter was brought to him from the postmaster- 
general. It read: 

" The king finds it necessary to dismiss you from the office 
of deputy postmaster-general in America." 

Dismissed in disgrace at the age of sixty-eight! And Eng- 
land laughing. He had nothing left to comfort him now but 
his conscience — that was the everything. 

The old spotted velvet coat; he brought it out on the day 
of the treaty. It was some nine or more years old now. He 
stood like a culprit in it one day; it should adorn him now in 
the hour of his honor. 

He was facing eighty years. 

He prepared to leave France, where his career had ^Dcen 
one of such honor and glory that his fame filled the world. 

The court made him a parting present. It was a portrait 
of the king set in a frame of four hundred diamonds! 



CHAPTER XL. 

IN SERVICE AGAIN. 

It has been said that Franklin forgot to he old. Verging 
upon eighty, he had asked to be recalled from France, and he 
dreamed of quiet old age among his grandchildren on the 
banks of the Schuylkill, where so many happy years of 
his middle life had been spent. He was recalled from France, 
but, as we have before stated, this was an age in America when 
men sought the councils of wisdom and experience. 

Pennsylvania needed a President or Governor who could lay 
the foundations of early legislation with prudence, and she 
turned to the venerable Franklin to fill the chair of state. He 
was nominated for the office of President of Pennsylvania, and 
elected, and twice re-elected; and we find him now, over 
eighty years of age, in activities of young manhood, and bring- 
ing to the office the largest experience of any American. 

He was among the first of most eminent Americans to 
crown his life after the period of threescore and ten years with 
the results of the scholarship of usefulness. 

We have recently seen Gladstone, Tennyson, King William, 

Bismarck, Von Moltke, Whittier, Holmes, and many other men 

of the enlightened world, doing some of their strongest and most 

impressive work after seventy years of age, and some of these 

20 293 



294 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

setting jewels in the crown of life when past eighty. We have 
seen Du Maurier producing his first great work of fiction at 
sixty, and many authors fulfilling the hopes of years at a like 
age. 

We have a beautiful pen picture of Franklin in these 
several years, in his youth's return when eighty years were past. 
It shows what is possible to a life of temperance and beneficence, 
and it is only such a life that can have an Indian summer, a 
youth in age. 

" Dr. Franklin's house," wrote a clergyman who visited 
him in his old age, " stands up a court, at some distance from 
the street. We found him in liis garden, sitting upon a grass- 
plot, under a very large mulberry tree, with several other gen- 
tlemen and two or three ladies. When Mr. Gerry introduced 
me, he rose from his chair, took me by the hand, expressed his 
joy at seeing me, welcomed me to the city, and begged me to 
seat myself close to him. His voice was low, but his counte- 
nance open, frank, and pleasing. I delivered to him my let- 
ters. After he read them he took me again by the hand, and, 
with the usual compliments, introduced me to the other gen- 
tlemen. 

" Here we entered into a free conversation, and spent our 
time most agreeably until it was quite dark. The tea table was 
spread under the tree, and Mrs. BaChe, who is the only daugh- 
ter of the doctor and lives with him, served it out to the com- 
pany. She had three of her children about her. They seemed 
to be excessively fond of their grandpa. The doctor showed 
me a curiosity he had just received, and with which he was 
much pleased. It was a snake with two heads, preserved in 




Franklin's last days. 



IN SERVICE AGAIN. 295 

a large vial. It was taken near the confluence of the Schuyl- 
kill with the Delaware, about four miles from this city. It 
was about ten inches long, well proportioned, the heads perfect, 
and united to the body about one fourth of an inch below the 
extremities of the jaws. The snake was of a dark brown, ap- 
proaching to black, and the back beautifully speckled with 
white. The belly was rather checkered with a reddish color 
and white. The doctor supposed it to be full grown, which 
I think is probable; and he thinks it must be a sui generis of 
that class of animals. He grounds his opinion of its not being 
an extraordinary production, but a distinct genus, on the per- 
fect form of the snake, the probability of its being of some age, 
and there having been found a snake entirely similar (of which 
the doctor has a drawing, which he showed us) near Lake 
Champlain in the time of the late war. He mentioned the 
situation of this snake if it was traveling among bushes, and 
one head should choose to go on one side of the stem of a bush 
and the other head should prefer the other side, and neither 
of the heads would consent to come back or give way to the 
other. He was then going to mention a humorous matter that 
had that day occurred in the convention in consequence of his 
comparing the snake to America, for he seemed to forget that 
everything in the convention was to be kept a profound secret. 
But this secrecy of convention matters was suggested to him, 
which stopped him and deprived me of the story he was going 
to tell. 

" After it was dark we went into his house, and he invited 
me into his library, which is likewise his study. It is a very 
large chamber and high studded. The walls are covered with 



296 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

bookshelves filled with books; besides, there are four large al- 
coves extending two thirds of the length of the chamber, filled 
in the same manner. I j^resume this is the largest and by far 
the best private library in America. 

" He seemed extremely fond, through the course of the visit, 
of dwelling on philosophical subjects, and particularly that of 
natural history, while the other gentlemen were swallowed up 
with politics. This was a favorable circumstance for me, for 
almost the whole of his conversation was addressed to me; and I 
was highly delighted with the extensive knowledge he appeared 
to have of every subject, the brightness of his memory, and 
the clearness and vivacity of all his mental faculties, notwith- 
standing his age. His manners are perfectly easy, and every- 
thing about him seems to difl:use an unrestrained freedom and 
happiness. He has an incessant vein of humor, accompanied 
with an uncommon vivacity, which seems as natural and in- 
voluntary as his breathing. He urged me to call on him again, 
but my short stay would not admit. We took our leave at ten, 
and I retired to my lodgings." 

The convention to frame a Constitution for the United 
States assembled at this time in Philadelphia. Dr. Franklin 
was elected to bring his ripe statesmanship into this great work. 

He was a poet in old age. When past eighty he fulfilled 
one of the hopes of Uncle Ben. When the Constitution had 
been adopted by a majority of the States, the event was cele- 
brated by a grand festival in Philadelphia. There were a long 
procession of the trades, an oration, the booming of cannon, 
and the ringing of bells. Some twenty thousand people joined 
in the festivities. They wanted a poet for the joyful occasion. 



m SERVICE AGAIN. 297 

Poets were not many in those days. Who should appear? It 
was Silence Dogood, the Poor Richard of a generation gone. 

To the draft of the Constitution of the United States Benja- 
min Franklin placed his signature, and thus again honored his 
Boston writing-master of seventy years ago. 

But he gave to this august assembly an influence as noble 
as his signature to the document that it produced. Franklin 
had been skeptical in his youth, and a questioner of religious 
teachings in other periods of his life. Mature thought had 
convinced him of the glory of the Christian faith, of the doc- 
trine of immortality and the power of prayer. The deliber- 
ations in the Constitutional Assembly were long, and they were 
sometimes bitter. In the midst of the debates, the divisions of 
opinion and delays. Dr. Franklin arose one day — it was the 28th 
of June, 1787 — and moved 

" That henceforth prayers, imploring the assistance of 
Heaven and its blessing on our deliberations, be held in this As- 
sembly every morning before we proceed to business; and that 
one or more of the clergy of this city be requested to officiate 
in that service." 

In an address supporting this resolution he said: " I have 
lived, sir, a long time, and the longer I live the more convincing 
proofs I see of this truth: That God governs in the affairs of 
men ! And if a sparrow can not fall to the ground without his 
notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without his aid? 
We have been assured, sir, in the Sacred Writings, that ' except 
the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it.' I 
firmly believe this; and I also believe that without his concur- 
ring aid we shall succeed in this political building no better 



298 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

than the building of Babel; we shall be divided by our partial 
local interests, our projects will be confounded, and we our- 
selves shall become a reproach and a byword down to future 
ages. And, what is worse, mankind may hereafter from this 
unfortunate instance despair of establishing government by 
human wisdom, and leave it to chance, war, and conquest." 

To consummate the American Government now only one 
thing was lacking — a power to interpret the meaning of the 
Constitution, and so to decide any disputes that should arise 
among the States. 

In ]\Ir. Vernon's garden, after the controversy between the 
fishermen of Maryland and Virginia, a }ilan to settle such dis- 
putes was produced. It was a high court of final appeal. 

So rose the Supreme Court. And this court to decide 
questions of controversy arising among the States, we may hope, 
was the beginning of a like body, a Supreme Court of the na- 
tions of the world that shall settle the questions in dispute 
among nations, without an appeal to war or the shedding of 
human blood. 

These were glorious times, and although Dr. Franklin was 
not actively engaged in this last grand movement for the gov- 
ernment of the people, he lived to give his influence to make 
George Washington President, and see the new order of a 
popular government inaugurated. lie entered the doors of 
that golden age of liberty, equality, and progress, when the des- 
tinies might say to their spindles, " Thus go on forever! " 



CHAPTER XLI. 



jane's last visit. 



It was midsummer. Benjamin Franklin, of fourscore 
years, President of Pennsylvania, had finished a long, three- 
story ell to his house on Market Street, and in this ell he had 
caused to be made a library which filled his heart with pride. 
He had invented a long arm with which to take down books 
from the high shelves of this library — an invention which came 
into use in other libraries in such a way as to make many libra- 
rians grateful to him. 

He was overburdened with care, and sufl^ered from chronic 
disease. 

In his days of pain he had been comforted by letters from 
Jenny, now long past seventy years of age. She had written 
to him in regard to his sufferings such messages as these: 

" Oh, that after you have spent your whole life in the 
service of the public, and have attained so glorious a conclu- 
sion, as I thought, as would now permit you to come home and 
spend (as you say) the evening with your friends in ease and 
quiet, that now such a dreadful malady should attack you! My 
heart is ready to burst with grief at the thought. How many 
hours have I lain awake on nights thinking what excruciating 

299 



300 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

pains you might then be encountering, while I, poor, useless, 
and worthless worm, was permitted to be at ease! Oh, that 
it was in my power to mitigate or alleviate the anguish I know 
you must endure! " 

When she heard of his arrival in Philadelphia she wrote: 

" I long so much to see you that I should immediately seek 
for some one that would accompany me, but my daughter is 
in a poor state of health and gone into the country to try to 
get a little better, and I am in a strait between two; but the 
comfortable reflection that you are at home among all your dear 
children, and no more seas to cross, will be constantly pleasing 
to me till I am permitted to enjoy the happiness of seeing and 
conversing with you." 

The tenderness and charity of Franklin for the many mem- 
bers of his own family still revealed his heart. " I tenderly 
love you," he wrote to Jane — Jenny — " for the care of our 
father in his sickness." 

One of his sisters, Mrs. Dowse, whose family had died, in- 
sisted upon living alone, on account of her love for the place 
that had been her home. Many other men would have com- 
pelled her removal, but there is nothing more beautiful in all 
Franklin's letters than the way that he advised Jenny how to 
treat this matter. He had been told that this venerable woman 
would have her own way. 

" As having their oivn. way is one of the greatest comforts 
of life to old people, I think their friends should endeavor to 
accommodate them in that as well as anything else. Wlien 
they have long lived in a house, it becomes natural to them; 
they are almost as closely connected with it as the tortoise with 



JANE'S LAST VISIT. 301 

his shell; they die if you tear them out. Old folks and old trees, 
if you remove them, 'tis ten to one that you kill them, so let 
our good old sister be no more importuned on that head; we 
are growing old fast ourselves, and shall expect the same kind 
of indulgences; if we give them, we shall have a right to re- 
ceive them in our turn." 

Jane Mecom — the " Jenny " of Franklin's young life — had 
one great desire as the years went on: it was, to meet her 
brother once more and to review the past with him. 

" I will one day go to Philadelphia and give him a great 
surprise," the woman used to say. 

Let us picture such a day. 

Benjamin Franklin sat down in his new library. His books 
had been placed and his pictures hung. 

Among the pictures were two that were so choice that we 
may suppose them to be hung under coverings. One of them 
was the portrait of the King of France in its frame of four 
hundred brilliants, and the other was his own portrait with, 
perhaps, Turgot's famous inscription. 

It Avas near evening when he sat down and asked to be left 
alone. 

He opened his secretary, and took from it a letter from 
Washington. It read: 

" Amid the public gratulations on your safe return to 
America after a long absence, and many eminent services you 
have rendered it, for which as a benefited person I feel the 
obligation, permit an individual to join the public voice in ex- 
pressing a sense of them, and to assure you that, as no one en- 
tertains more respect for your character, so no one can salute 



302 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

3'ou with more sincerity or with greater pleasure than I do on 
the occasion." 

He took from his papers the resohition of the Assemhly of 
Pennsylvania and began to read: 

" We are confident, sir, that we speak the sentiments of the 
whole country when we say that your services in the public 
councils and negotiations have not only merited the thanks of 
the present generation, but will be recorded in the pages of 
history to your immortal honor." 

He dropped the paper on the table beside the letter of Wash- 
ington and sank into his armchair, for his pains were coming 
upon him again. 

He thought of the past — of old Boston, of Passy, of all his 
struggles — and he wished that he might feel again the sympa- 
thetic touch of the hand of his sister who had been so true to 
him, and who had loved him so long and well. 

It was near sunset of one of the longest days of the year 
when he heard a carriage stop before the door. 

" I can not see any one," he said. " I must have rest — I 
must have rest." 

There came a mechanical knock on his door. He did not 
respond. 

A servant's voice said outside, " There is a woman, master, 
that asks to see you." 

" I can not see any one," answered the tortured old man. 

" She is an old woman." 

" I could not see the queen." 

He heard an echo of the servant's voice in the hall. 

" He says that he could not see the queen." 



JANE'S LAST VISIT. 303 

" Well, tell him that I am something more than that to 
him. He will see me, or else I will die at his door." 

There came a tap on the door, very gentle. 

"Who is there?" 

" It is Jane." 

"What Jane— who?" 

" She who folded the hands of your father for the last 
time. Open the door. There can be no No to me." 

The door opened. 

"Jenny!" 

" Ben — let all titles pass now — I have come to give you a 
surprise." 

The old woman sank into a chair. 

" I have come to visit you for the last time," she said, " and 
to number with you our mercies of life. Let me rest before 
I talk. You are in pain." 

" Jenny, my pains have gone. I had sat down in agony 
in this new room; my head ached as well as my body. I am 
happy now that you have come." 

She moved her chair to his, and he took her hand again, 
saying: 

" My sister's hand — your hand, Jenny, as when we were 
children. They are gone, all gone." 

He looked in her face. 

" Jenny, your hair is gray now, and mine is white. I have 
been reading over again this letter from Washington." 

" Eead it to me while I rest, then we will talk of old 
times." 

He read the letter. 



304 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Here are the resolutions of the Assembly of Pennsylvania 
passed on my return." 

" Eead them to me, brother, for I must rest longer before 
we talk of old times." 

He read the resolutions. 

" Jenny, let me uncover this. It is not vanity that makes 
me wish to do it now, but on account of what I wish to say." 

He uncovered the portrait of the French king. The last 
light of the sun fell into the room and upon the frame, causing 
the four hundred diamonds to gleam. 

" That was presented to me by the court of France." 

" I never saw anything so splendid, brotlier. But what is 
the other picture under the cover? " 

He drew away the screen. 

" It is my portrait, Jenny." 

" But, brother, what are those words written under it ? " 

Franklin read, " Eripuit ccelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyran- 
nis. 

" Brother, what does that mean ? " 

" ' He snatched the thunderbolts from heaven, and the scep- 
ter from the tyrants.' " 

" Who, brother? " 

" Jenny, let us talk of these things no longer. Do you re- 
member Uncle Ben?" 

" He has never died. He lives in you. You have lived 
out his life. You have lived, Ben, and I have loved. Brother, 
you have done well. He who does his best does well." 

" Jenny, can you repeat what Uncle Ben said under the 



JANE'S LAST VISIT. 305 

tree on the showery day when the birds sang, nearly seventy 
years ago ? " 

" Let ns repeat it together, brother. You have made that 
lesson your life." 

" ' More than wealth, more than fame, or any other thing, 
is the power of the human heart, and it is developed by seeking 
the good of others. Live for the things that live.' " 

" Jenny, my own true sister, I have something else to show 
you — something that I value more than a present from a 
throne. I have here some ' pamphlets,' into which Uncle Ben 
put his soul before he sought to impress the same thoughts upon 
me. I want you to have them now, to read them, and give 
them to his family." 

He went to his secretary and took from it the pamphlets. 

" Here are the thoughts of a man who told me when I was 
a poor boy in Boston town that I had a chance in the world. 

" He told me not to be laughed down. 

" He told me that diligence was power. 

" He told me that I would be helped in helping others. 

" He told me that Justice was the need of mankind. 

" He told me that to have influence with men I must over- 
come my conscious defects. 

" He was poor, he was empty-handed, but Heaven gave to 
him. the true vision of life. He committed that vision to me, 
and what he wished to be I have struggled to fulfill. These 
pamphlets are the picture of his mind, and that picture deserves 
to be hung in diamonds, and is more to me than the portrait 
of the king. Blessed be the memory of that old man, who 
taught my young life virtue, and gave it hope! 



306 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

" Jenny, I have tried to live well." 

" You have been ' Silence Dogood/ the idea that Uncle 
Benjamin printed on your mind." 

" Jenny, I have heard the church bells — Uncle Tom's 
bells — of Nottingham ring. I found Uncle Benjamin's let- 
ters there — those that he wrote to his old friends from 
America. He lovingly described you and me. What days 
those were! Father was true to his home when he invited 
Uncle Benjamin to America. You have been true to your 
home, and my heart has been, through your hands. Jenny, 
I have given my house in Boston to you." 

The old woman wept. 

" Jenny, you have loved, and your heart has been better 
than mine. Let me call the servants. These are hours when 
the soul is full — my soul is full. I ask for nothing more." 



CHAPTEE XLII. 



FOR THE LAST TIME. 



Silence Dogood is an old man now — a very old man. 
He looks back on the spring and summer and autumn of life — 
it is now the time of the snow. But there are sunny days in 
winter, and they came to him, though on the trees hang the 
snow, and the nights are long and painful. 

What has Silence Dogood done in his eighty years now 
ending in calm, in dreams and silence? Let us look back 
oyer the past with him now. What a review it is! 

He had founded literary and scientific clubs in his early 
life that had made not idlers, but men. He had founded the 
first subscription library in America. It had multiplied, and 
in its many branches had become a national influence. 

He made a stove that was a family luxury, and showed how 
it might be enjoyed without a smoky chimney. 

He had shown that lightning was electricity and could be 
controlled, and had disarmed the thunder cloud by a simple 
rod. 

He had founded the High School in Pennsylvania. 

He had encouraged the raising of silk. 

He had helped found the Philadelphia Hospital, and had 
founded the American Philosophical Society. 

307 



308 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

He had promoted the scheme for uniting the colonies. 

He had signed the Declaration of Independence, the Treaty 
of the Alliance with France, the Treaty of Peace between 
England and the United States, and the draft of the Consti- 
tution of the United States. 

We may truly say, " Well done, thou good and faithful serv- 
ant." But there remains yet one paper to sign. It is his will. 
The influence of that paper is felt in the world to-day, but no- 
where more than in Boston. In this will he made provision for 
lending the interest of great bequests to poor citizens, he left 
the fund for the Franklin Silver Medal in Boston schools, and 
he sought to be a benefactor to the children of Boston after a 
hundred years. This will has the following words: 

" If this plan is executed, and succeeds as projected without 
interruption for one hundred years, the sum will then be one 
hundred and thirty-one thousand pounds, of which I would 
have the managers of the donation to the town of Boston then 
lay out, at their discretion, one hundred thousand pounds in 
public works, which may be judged of most general utility to 
the inhabitants, such as fortifications, bridges, aqueducts, pub- 
lic buildings, baths, pavements, or whatever may make living 
in the town more convenient to its people, and render it more 
agreeable to strangers resorting thither for health or a tem- 
porary residence. The remaining thirty-one thousand pounds 
I would have continued to be let out on interest, in the manner 
above directed, for another hundred years, as I hope it will have 
been found that the institution has had a good effect on the 
conduct of youth, and been of service to many worthy charac- 
ters and useful citizens. At the end of this second term, if 



FOR THE LAST TIME. 309 

no unfortunate accident has prevented the operation, the sum 
will he four millions and sixty-one thousand pounds sterling; 
of which I leave one million sixty-one thousand pounds to the 
disposition of the inhabitants of the town of Boston, and three 
millions to the disposition of the government of the State, not 
presuming to carry my views farther." 

He put his signature to this last paper, and for the last time 
did honor to his old writing-master, George Brownell. 

He died looking upon a picture of Christ, and he was buried 
amid almost unexampled honors, France joining with the 
United States in his eulogies. 

But in a high sense he lives. There is one boy who has 
never ceased to attend the Boston Latin School, and will not 
for generations to come. It is Silence Dogood. 

Virtue to virtue, intelligence to intelligence, benevolence to 
benevolence, faith to faith! So ascend the feet of worth on 
the ladder of life; so reaches a high purpose a place beyond 
the derision of the world. 

The bells of the nation tolled when he died. " He was 
true to his country! " said all men; but aged Jenny, " He was 
true to his home! " 

The influence of Uncle Benjamin in his godson had lived, 
but it was not ended. ■ 

On September 17th, in the year 1856, the city of Boston 
stopped business to render homage to the memory of her great- 
est citizen. On that day was inaugurated the Franklin statue, 
by Horatio Greenough, that now stands in front of the City 

Hall. On that day the graves of Josiah and Abiah Franklin in 
21 



310 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

the Granary burying ground were covered with evergreens and 
flowers, and we hope that the grave of Uncle Ben, the poet, 
which is near by, was not forgotten. 

The procession was one of the grandest that the city has 
ever seen, for it was not only great in numbers, but it blos- 
somed with heart tributes. The trades were in it, the military, 
the schools. Orators, poets, artists, all contributed to the fes- 
tival. Boston was covered with flags, and her halls were filled 
with joyous assemblages. 

There was one house that was ornamented by a motto from 
Franklin's private liturgy. It was: 

" Help me to be faithful to my country. 
Careful for its good, 
Valiant for its defense, 
And obedient to its laws." 

Conspicuous among the mottoes were: 

" Time is money," '' Knowledge is power," " Worth makes 
the man," and, queerly enough, " DonH give too much for the 
whistle," the teaching of an experience one hundred and fifty 
years before. 

The bells rang, and the influence of the old man who slept 
beside the flower-crowned grave of Josiah Franklin and Abiah 
Franklin was in the joy; the chimes of Nottingham were ring- 
ing again. Good influences are seeds of immortal flowers, and 
no life fails that inspires another. 

Franklin Park, Boston, which will be one of the most 
beautiful in the world, will carry forward, in its forests, foun- 
tains, and flowers, these influences for generations to come. 



CHAPTER XLIII. 



A LESSON AFTER SCHOOL, 



It was the day of the award of the Franklin medals in the 
old Boston Latin School, a day in June, and such a one as 
James Russell Lowell so picturesquely describes. We say 
" old " Boston Latin School, not meaning old Boston in Eng- 
land, but such an association would not be an untrue one; for 
the Boston Latin School in Boston, Massachusetts, which was 
founded under the influence of Governor John Winthrop and 
Rev. John Cotton, and that numbers five signers of the Dec- 
laration of Independence among its pupils, was really begun in 
Boston, England, in 1554, or in the days of Queen Mary. It 
has the most remarkable history of any school in America; it 
has been the Harrow of Harvard, and for five or more gener- 
ations has sent into life many men whose character has shed 
luster upon their times. 

To gain the Franklin medal is the high aim of the Boston 
schoolboy. It is to associate one's name with a long line of 
illustrious men, among them John Collins Warren, Wendell 
Phillips, Charles Sumner, Phillips Brooks, S. F. Smith, and 
many others. 

But one of the boys who had won the Franklin medal to- 

311 



312 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

day had done so amid the ridicule of his people at home and 
after very hard work. Boston Latin boys are too well bred to 
laugh at the humble gifts of any one, but those of this period 
could hardly have failed to notice the natural stupidity and 
the strong, silent purpose and will of this lad. His name we 
will call Elwell — Frank Elwell. He came from a humble 
home, where he was not uncommonly taunted as being the 
" fool of the familv." 

He first attracted attention at this school of brilliant pu- 
pils by a bold question which he asked his teacher one day that 
commanded instant respect. After hard study he had made 
a very poor recitation. He was reproved by his teacher, who 
was a submaster, but a kindly, sensitive, and sympathetic man. 
He lifted his eyes and looked into the teacher's face, and said : 

" Why do you reprove me? I am doing the best I can, sir." 

The teacher knew the words to be true. The boys that 
heard the question turned with a kind of chivalrous feeling 
toward their dull companion, who was doing his best against 
poverty, limited gifts, and many disadvantages in life. The 
old school of Charles Sumner, Wendell Phillips, and Phillips 
Brooks is not wanting in true sympathy with any manly strug- 
gle in life. 

The teacher answered: "Master Elwell, I have done wrong 
in reproving you. He does well who does liis best. You are 
doing well." 

Frank Elwell won the Franklin medal by doing his best. 
On the evening after his graduation he stood before his teacher 
and asked: 

" Master Lowell " (for so we will call the teacher, and use 



A LESSON AFTER SCHOOL. 313 

the old term in the vocative case), " Master Lowell, did you 
ever know any boy to struggle against defects like mine?" 

" Yes, my boy, I have." 

" Did he succeed in life ? " 

" He did. He became the first citizen of Boston, and is 
so regarded still." 

" Who was it, sir? " 

" Look at your medal. It was Benjamin Franklin him- 
self." 

Reader, Frank Elwell perhaps is you. 

" More than wealth, more than fame, more than any other 
thing, is the power of the human heart." Live for influences — 
live for the things that live, and let the best influences of the 
Peter Folgers and Benjamin Franklins of your family live on 
in you, and live after you. You will do well in life and will 
succeed in life if you do your best; and if your ideal seems to 
fail in you, it will not fail in the world, in whose harvest field 
no good intention perishes. 

Be true to those who have faith in you, and to their faith 
in you, and help others by believing in the best that is in them. 
Those who have the most faith in you are your truest friends. 
An Uncle Benjamin and a Jenny are among the choicest char- 
acters that can enter the doors of life, and we will see it so 
at the end. 

Do good, and you can not fail. 

" Do thou thy work ; it shall succeed 
In thine or in another's day, 
And if denied the visitor's meed, 
Thou shalt not miss the toiler's pay." ' 



APPENDIX. 

franklin's famous peoverb story of the old auctioneer. 

" Friends/' said the old auctioneer, " the taxes are indeed 
very heavy. If those laid on by the government were the only 
ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but 
we have many others, and much more grievous to some of us. 
We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as 
much by our pride, and four times as much by our folly; and 
from these taxes the commissioners can not ease or deliver us 
by allowing an abatement. However, let us hearken to good 
advice, and something may be done for us. God helps them 
that help themselves, as Poor Richard says. 

" I. It would be thought a hard government that would tax 

its people one tenth part of their time to be employed in its 

service; but idleness taxes many of us much more; sloth, by 

bringing on diseases, absolutely shortens life. Sloth, like rust, 

consumes faster than labor wears; while the used key is always 

bright, as Poor Eichard says. But dost thou love life? then do 

not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of, as Poor 

Richard says. How much more than is necessary do we spend 

in sleep, forgetting that The sleeping fox catches no poultry, 

and that There will be sleeping enough in the grave? as Poor 

Richard says. 

314 



APPENDIX. 315 

" If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time 
must be, as Poor Richard says, the greatest prodigality, since, 
as he elsewhere tells us. Lost time is never found again, and what 
we call time enough always proves little enough. Let us, then, 
be up and doing, and doing to the purpose; so by diligence 
shall we do more with less perplexity. Sloth makes all things 
difficult, but industry all ease; and He that riseth late must 
trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night; 
while Laziness travels so slowly that Poverty soon overtakes 
him. Drive thy business, let not that drive thee; and. Early 
to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and 
wise, as Poor Eichard says. 

" So, what signifies wishing and hoping for better times? 
We make these times better if we bestir ourselves. Industry 
need not wish, and he that lives upon hopes will die fasting. 
There are no gains without pains; then help, hands, for I have 
no lands; or, if I have, they are smartly taxed. He that hath 
a trade hath an estate; and he that hath a calling hath an office 
of profit and honor, as Poor Richard says; but then the trade 
must be worked at, and the calling followed, or neither the 
estate nor the office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are 
industrious we shall never starve; for. At the workingman's 
house Hunger looks in but dares not enter; for, Industry pays 
debts, while despair increases them. What though you have no 
treasure, nor has any rich relation left you a legacy; Diligence is 
the mother of good luck, and God gives all things to industry. 
Then plow deep while sluggards sleep, and you shall have corn 
to sell and to keep. Work while it is called to-day, for you 
know not how much you may be hindered to-morrow. One 



316 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

to-day is worth two to-morrows, as Poor Eichard says; and 
further, Never leave that till to-morrow which you can do to- 
day. If you were a servant, would you not be ashamed that 
a good master should catch you idle ? Are you, then, your own 
master? Be ashamed to catch yourself idle, when there is so 
much to be done for yourself, your family, your country, your 
king. Handle your tools without mittens; remember that The 
cat in gloves catches no mice, as Poor Eichard says. It is true 
there is much to be done, and perhaps you are weak-handed; 
but stick to it steadily, and you will see great effects; for. 
Constant dropping wears away stones, and By diligence and 
patience the mouse ate in two the cable; and Little strokes 
fell great oaks. 

" Methinks I hear some of you say, ]\Iust a man afford 
himself no leisure? I will tell thee, my friend, what Poor 
Eichard says: Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain 
leisure; and since thou art not sure of a minute, throw not away 
an hour. Leisure is time for doing something useful; this 
leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never; 
for A life of leisure and a life of laziness are two things. Many, 
without labor, would live by their wits only, but they break 
for want of stock; whereas, industry gives comfort, and plenty, 
and respect. Fly pleasures, and they will follow you. The 
diligent spinner has a large shift; and now I have a sheep and 
a cow, every one bids me good-morrow. 

" II. But with our industry we must likewise be steady and 
careful, and oversee our own affairs with our own eyes, and not 
trust too much to others; for, as Poor Eichard says: 



APPENDIX. 317 

" T. never saw an oft-removed tree, 
Nor yet an oft-removed family, 
That throve so well as those that settled be." 

And again, Three removes are as bad as a fire; and again, Keep 
thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee; and again. If you would 
have your business, go; if not, send. And again, 

" He that by the plow would thrive, 
Himself must either hold or drive." 

And again, The eye of the master will do more work than both 
his hands; and again. Want of care does us more damage than 
want of knowledge; and again. Not to oversee workmen is to 
leave them your purse open. Trusting too much to others' 
care is the ruin of many; for, In the affairs of this world men 
are saved not by faith but by the want of it; but a man's own 
care is profitable, for. If you would have a faithful servant, and 
one that you like, serve yourself. A little neglect may breed 
great mischief: for want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of 
a shoe the horse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was 
lost, being overtaken and slain by the enemy — all for want of 
a little care about a horseshoe nail. 

" III. So much for industry, my friends, and attention to 
one's own business; but to these we must add frugality, if we 
would make our industry more certainly successful. A man 
may, if he knows not how to save as he gets, keep his nose all 
his life to the grindstone, and die not worth a groat at last. A 
fat kitchen makes a lean will; and 

" Many estates are spent in the getting, 

Since women forsook spinning and knitting. 
And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting. 
If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting." 



318 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

The Indies have not made Spain rich, because her outgoes are 
greater than her incomes. 

" Away, then, with your expensive f olHes, and you will not 
then have so much cause to complain of hard times, heavy 
taxes, and chargeable families; for 

*' Women and wine, game and deceit, 
Make the wealth small and the want great." 

And, further, What maintains one vice would bring up two chil- 
dren. You may think, perhaps, that a little tea or a little 
punch now and then, diet a little more costly, clothes a little 
finer, and a little entertainment now and then, can be no great 
matter; but remember. Many a little makes a mickle. Beware 
of little expenses; A small leak will sink a great ship, as Poor 
Richard says; and again. Who dainties love shall beggars prove; 
and, moreover. Fools make feasts and wise men eat them. 

" Here you are all got together at this sale of fineries and 
knickknacks. You call them goods; but if you do not take 
care, they will prove evils to some of you. You expect they will 
be sold cheap, and perhaps they may for less than they cost; 
but if you have no occasion for them, they must be dear to you. 
Remember what Poor Richard says: Buy' what thou hast no 
need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thy necessities. And 
again. At a great pennyworth pause awhile. He means that 
perhaps the cheapness is apparent only, and not real; or the 
bargain, by straitening thee in thy business, may do thee 
more harm than good; for in another place he says, Many 
have been ruined by buying good pennyworths. Again, It is 
foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repentance; and yet 
this folly is practiced every day at auctions for want of mind- 



APPENDIX. 319 

ing the almanac. Many, for the sake of finery on the back, 
have gone with a liungry belly and half starved their families. 
Silks and satins, scarlet and velvets, put out the kitchen fire, 
as Poor Eichard says. 

" These are not the necessaries of life; they can scarcely 
be called the conveniences; and yet, only because they look 
pretty, how many want to have them! By these, and other 
extravagances, the genteel are reduced to poverty, and forced 
to borrow of those whom they formerly despised, but who 
through industry and frugality have maintained their standing; 
in which case it appears plainly that A plowman on his legs is 
higher than a gentleman on his knees, as Poor Richard says. 
Perhaps they have a small estate left them which they knew 
not the getting of; they think. It is day, and it never will be 
night; that a little to be spent out of so much is not worth 
minding; but Always taking out of the meal-tub, and never 
putting in, soon comes to the bottom, as Poor Richard says; 
and then. When the well is dry, they know the worth of water. 
But this they might have known before, if they had taken his 
advice. If you would know the value of money, go and try 
to borrow some; for. He that goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrow- 
ing, as Poor Richard says; and, indeed, so does he that lends 
to such people, when he goes to get it again. Poor Dick further 
advises, and says: 

" Fond pride of dress is sure a very curse ; 
Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse." 

And again. Pride is as loud a beggar as Want, and a great deal 
more saucy. When you have bought one fine thing, you must 
buy ten more, that your appearance may be all of a piece; but 



320 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

Poor Dick says, It is easier to suppress the first desire than to 
satisfy all that follow it. And it is as truly folly for the poor 
to ape the rich, as for the frog to swell in order to equal the ox. 

" Vessels large may venture more, 
But little boats should keep near shore." 

It is, however, a folly soon punished; for, as Poor Eichard says, 
Pride that dines on vanity, sups on contempt. Pride break- 
fasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty, and supped with In- 
famy. And, after all, of what use is this pride of appearance, 
for which so much is risked, so much is suffered? It can not 
promote health, nor ease p"in; it makes no increase of merit 
in the person; it creates envy; it hastens misfortune. 

" But what madness must it be to run in debt for these su- 
perfluities! We are offered by the terms of this sale six 
months' credit; and that, perhaps, has induced some of us to 
attend it, because we can not spare the ready money, and hope 
now to be fine without it. But, ah! think what you do when 
you run in debt: you give to another power over your liberty. 
If you can not pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see your 
creditor; you will be in fear when you speak to him; you will 
make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, and, by degrees, come to 
lose your veracity, and sink into base, downright l}^ng; for. The 
second vice is lying, the first is running in debt, as Poor Eich- 
ard says; and again, to the same purpose, Lying rides upon 
Debt's back; whereas, a free-born Englishman ought not to be 
ashamed nor afraid to see or speak to any man living. But 
poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue. It is 
hard for an empty bag to stand upright. 

" What would you think of that prince, or of that govern- 



APPENDIX. 321 

ment, who should issue an edict forbidding you to dress like 
a gentleman or gentlewoman on pain of imprisonment or servi- 
tude? Would you not say that you were free, have a right to 
dress as you please, and that such an edict would be a breach 
of your privileges, and such a government tyrannical? And 
yet you are about to put yourself under such tyranny when 
you run in debt for such dress. Your creditor has authority, 
at his pleasure, to deprive you of your liberty, by confining you 
in jail till you shall be able to pay him. When you have got 
your bargain you may perhaps think little of payment; but, 
as Poor Richard says. Creditors have better memories than 
debtors; creditors are a superstitious sect, great observers 
of set days and times. The day comes round before you are 
aware, and the demand is made before you are prepared to 
satisfy it; or, if you bear your debt in mind, the term, which 
at first seemed so long, will, as it lessens, appear extremely 
short. Time will seem to have added wings to his heels as well 
as his shoulders. Those have a short Lent who owe money 
to be paid at Easter. At present, perhaps, you may think 
yourselves in thriving circumstances, and that you can bear a 
little extravagance without injury; but 

" For age and want save while you may ; 
No morning sun lasts a whole day." 

Gain may be temporary and uncertain, but ever, while you live, 
expense is constant and certain; and It is easier to build two 
chimneys than to keep one in fuel, as Poor Eichard says; so, 
Eather go to bed supperless than rise in debt. 

" Get what you can, and what you get, hold ; 
'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold." 



322 TRUE TO HIS HOME. 

And when you have got the philosopher's stone, surely you 
will no longer complain of had times or the difficulty of pay- 
ing taxes. 

" IV. This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom; but, 
after all, do not depend too much upon your own industry and 
frugality and prudence, though excellent things; for they may 
all be blasted, without the blessing of Heaven; and, therefore, 
ask that blessing humbly, and be not uncharitable to those that 
at present seem to want it, but comfort and help them. Re- 
member, Job suffered, and was afterward prosperous. 

" And now, to conclude. Experience keeps a dear school, 
but fools will learn in no other, as Poor Eichard says, and scarce 
in that; for, it is true, we may give advice, but we can not give 
conduct. However, remember this: They that will not be 
counseled can not be helped; and further, that, If you will 
not hear Reason, she will surely rap your knuckles, as Poor 
Richard says." 



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"The doings of 'King' Tom, Albert, and the happy-go-lucky boy Jim on the 
swamp island, are as entertaining in their way as the old sagas embodied in Scandi- 
navian story." — Fhiladelphia Ledger. 



New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 



